


Rebuilding

by BrynTWedge



Series: Paths Walked Together [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable Greg Lestrade, Anxiety, Anxious Mycroft, Caring Mycroft Holmes, Depressed Greg, Depression, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Lestrade-centric, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft Worries, Poor Lestrade, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, mystrade, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:06:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Mycroft aids Greg in recovering from his depression, and the pair bond whilst Greg works towards clearing Sherlock's name. Mycroft sees what he's needed all along, and both he and Greg don't have to be alone anymore. Mystrade, Post-TRF up to start Season 3.





	1. Homeward

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and left Kudos! It really encouraged me to continue writing! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy part II of the story. 
> 
> Not Beta read, so please forgive errors. I try but can't catch them all!

Greg nervously held onto his bag. He was leaving the hospital today, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He initially was very anxious to leave, but after spending some time there, he’d gotten used to people always being around. And now he was headed back home, where it was just dark and empty. Mycroft had assured him that he’d have someone around at all times, but it wasn’t quite the same. The idea felt more like he was under guard than having company. He still wasn’t sure what would happen once he’d arrived home… he couldn’t look at his bedroom the same way again. 

Briefly he wondered if he should just get a new bed. He’d definitely need new sheets, having bled all over the ones he had; and since the blood had likely seeped through into the mattress, it would be more hygienic to just get a new one. Greg didn’t want to admit that he felt uncomfortable sleeping or resting somewhere that still bore evidence of his suicide attempt. He couldn’t really put a reason on it exactly, and so had kept it quiet since Mycroft had said he could go home. 

Greg took a deep breath. He was seated on the edge of his bed, waiting for Mycroft to come and pick him up. He reminisced over the past three weeks, and how Mycroft had surprisingly been there for most of it. He knew that the man practically ran the British Government, and so had thought that when Mycroft said ‘as much as possible’, he’d meant just a five minute visit once a week. Sure, Mycroft had spend lots of time on his phone, and off on calls, but ultimately he’d strived to be around for Greg. It made the detective feel warm inside to think about it. 

If he was being honest with himself, he’d found himself growing fond of the elder Holmes. He missed it when Mycroft was away, and couldn’t help but smile every time that ginger head would pop in his doorway. And he knew that part of why he was sad to leave the hospital was knowing that once he was back in his dreary flat, Mycroft wouldn’t come by as much. 

“Are you ready Gregory?”  
Greg looked up at the doorway to see the man himself standing there.  
“Yeah, got my stuff right here.” Greg responded, lifting the bag with his good arm. 

Since the … _incident_ … Greg hadn’t been able to do a whole lot with his left arm. He was right handed, which was lucky, but he still felt hindered at the restriction. It was getting better slowly with physical therapy, but the pain was still there if he used those muscles too much. Typing and general hand movements were fine, thankfully, but using it to carry much weight was still an issue. John had told him that he was lucky, with a playful smile hinting at his bullet wound in his shoulder, and Greg had chuckled. 

“What is it?” Mycroft asked him.  
“Oh… nothing.” Greg said and carried his belongings with him as he left the room. He hadn’t realised he’d been sitting there in silence thinking. 

Mycroft made a move to carry Greg’s bag, but Greg shooed him away playfully. He rather enjoyed Mycroft’s kindness, or ‘chivalry’ as Greg had said once, but he still wanted to do things himself. 

“How do you feel about leaving?”   
Greg looked over at Mycroft. They were both sitting in the back of his car being driven back to Greg’s place. Greg frowned a little.   
“Honestly I’m a bit sad.”  
“Why?” Mycroft asked, a hint of concern lacing his voice.  
“Oh, just… it wasn’t lonely, there. I didn’t like some things, sure, but it was nice to have people around. Visitors who actually wanted to see me and cared enough to come around.”

Mycroft sat there silently. He’d been trying hard to give Gregory room to talk openly, but it was still difficult to continue asking questions. He was always afraid of asking something inappropriate or pushing something too far. He wondered which thought he should say and direct the conversation, a problem he often had - he’d think of three or four directions he could take from Greg’s statement, but wasn’t sure which was more important. 

“Are you afraid of being alone?”  
Greg looked at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, right, I am aware of your general…er… aversion to being alone, but I was referring to more specifically today in going back to your home.”  
“Yes.” Greg uttered.

There was a small silence.  
“You… you don’t have to, you know.” Mycroft said awkwardly. 

Greg had gotten used to seeing a completely different side to Mycroft than most people saw, but he still noticed certain things. The unsteady tone the man used when trying to express his own feelings, for example. Or saying something that would hint at his feelings. Which was why Greg knew that Mycroft was wanting to say something he considered embarrassing because of his feelings in the matter. 

“I have to leave the hospital eventually, Mycroft.”  
“No… I mean, you … you don’t have to go back to your flat if you don’t want to.”

Greg smiled at his friend and chuckled while responding.  
“You asking me to move in with you?” 

Mycroft suddenly went wide-eyed and panicky.  
“No, I mean, yes, but only for company’s sake, and not permanently, because I don’t assume…”  
“Hey it’s ok, I was joking. I can be depressed and still make jokes, you know.”   
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Gregory. I just want to do what I can to make things easier for you, and if you would prefer staying at my place…”  
“Oh. Well… yeah, I guess I’d feel less like I was being guarded if the people you have ‘watch’ me are supposed to be around your house anyway…”

“Yes, indeed, but I had hoped that I would be able to be in your company more often…” Mycroft said quietly. He still had issues with being open about his true intentions and feelings when they were of a personal nature. But he was trying. 

Mycroft had felt a more-than-professional attraction to the DI quite some time ago, however shoved those ideas out of his mind as much as possible. It was inappropriate to attempt to get involved with, or even daydream about, his brother’s friend. And it would have opened him up to difficulty relating to where his ‘loyalties lie’ in Sherlock’s eyes. The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to turn away from Lestrade’s offer of cases and head back down the road of drugs to pass the time. And, of course, it would provide leverage against him… and he’d never forgive himself if something had happened to Gregory as a means for his enemies to gain advantages over him. 

All of those thoughts, however, had changed. He couldn’t suppress his feelings anymore, no matter how he tried, and found his mind wandering into thoughts regarding the DI in casual setting instead of a workplace environment. Realising that he’d almost lost Gregory had hit him hard, and something inside himself had snapped and wanted to take every opportunity there was. He’d almost lost his chance to have Gregory in his life, and now that he had a second chance, it seemed like his mind wasn’t letting him have any other option. He didn’t know exactly what he even wanted; he’d scolded himself regarding his thoughts, but he knew he just wanted to be … closer, somehow. 

“You alright?”

Mycroft’s attention snapped back to the car and the other occupant. 

“Yes, sorry, I was just considering…”  
“Considering?” Greg asked, a little nervous. Was Mycroft wanting to retract his offer?  
“Just considering how I would very much enjoy your presence in my house.” 

Greg blushed slightly and smiled. Mycroft had been acting rather affectionate over the past few weeks in hospital, and Greg couldn’t help but love it. John had been a whole lot nicer too, but it wasn’t quite the same. There was friendship there with the both of them, but Greg kept picking up on little hints dropped his way that there might be another layer to Mycroft’s caring. He would tell himself that he was being silly, that no one would suddenly turn around after a suicide attempt and want to date said person. But then there’d be that sparkle in Mycroft’s eye, the warmth of his smile, an innocent enough sounding offer… and Greg would sit there thinking… maybe. 


	2. Sharing with Mycroft

Greg had honestly expected more from Mycroft’s home.   
_Perhaps it’s just his work flat? Surely he wouldn’t chose to live like this always?_

Greg pondered as he was shown the guest bedroom. The whole place was an odd mixture of posh upper class and dreary underworld. The bed was luxurious, as was the linen. The walls were dark, tattered exposed concrete. The lamps on either side of the bed, fixed into the wall, were of exceptional quality that spread warm light above and below - it did not, however, light up the whole room very well. The floor was hardwood; it was old, scratched, but not creaky. The door was of a similar condition to the floor: old, worn, but not noisy. It had an impressive lock on it, however. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel welcome here or imprisoned.

Mycroft appeared at the doorway, looking awkward as ever. 

“I, um, hope that the room is satisfactory.”   
“Yes, it’s just a bit… odd, I guess.”  
“I am aware it is not exactly how you imagined it.”  
“How do you know what I imagined?”  
“It’s a reasonable enough assumption. Most people who look at me would believe I lived in an expensive upper class mansion filled with servants. I believe many of my colleagues at the Diogenes would indeed live that way. While I do have property which more closely resembles that concept, this is my working residence in London. I am away far too long to require anything too…extravagant... on a day to day basis.” 

Greg nodded. He could understand that, since his flat was nothing special for the same reason. But there was plain, and then there was _this_. 

“Yeah, I get that. It’s just… darker, than I pictured. I mean living somewhere average I can understand, but this isn’t average, Mycroft. It’s… well, it’s scary. Everything is dark, or covered in stark shadows from dull lighting. It’s cold and harsh looking.”   
“Many would believe that suits my personality to a tee.”   
“Many, maybe, but I know you better than that. All that cold detachment is just an act.” 

Greg smiled at him, a little forced. The atmosphere wasn’t helping his feelings.   
“I am still mysterious, Gregory, and this flat suits such a concept. It is not much different to my office, in fact.”  
“You spend your day somewhere like this?”   
“Is that a problem?”  
“No… no, it’s…fine. I get why you’d feel more comforted by it than I do.”  
“You’re uncomfortable?”  
“Well, honestly, yeah. I mean I feel like I’m a prisoner or something… like that lock, is that meant to try and keep me in here?”  


Mycroft looked pained, and his eyes flickered to the large bolt lock in the door.   
“Certainly not, Gregory. I apologise for making you feel that way; believe me, that was not my intention. Perhaps it might be better to stay with John for a while…” Mycroft trailed off in thought.   
“No, John’s a good mate and all, but I don’t want to bring him down. He’s going through enough and I feel like we mightn’t do well for each other.”  
“Yes, that is very wise, Gregory. You have always surprised me with your selflessness and intelligence.” 

Greg noticed Mycroft’s eyes looking away as he said it, and the faint red tinge to his cheeks. It caused something to stir in Greg’s gut that was not unpleasant.   
“If you like, you can redecorate to make yourself feel more at home?”  
  
Mycroft was obviously trying hard to get him to stay. Others might not be able to see it, but he could tell that such an offer was born from strong consideration for him. Mycroft had a power complex, anyone could tell, and loved to be the ultimate authority on everything. Conceding to allow Greg to change his own home was practically a confession of love. 

“Oh, um, yeah … yeah that might be good, thank you Mycroft. A little more light would be a good start.” 

Mycroft nodded gently, understanding Gregory’s aversion to the darkness. He himself sometimes found it unnerving when he was struggling to control his anxieties (often making him retreat to his other house), and so could appreciate the difficulty of living in it while depressed. He wanted to offer his other place, the fancy manor he lived in while not being pressured to commit to work, but for some reason, he didn't. He would allow Gregory to visit, of course, but that felt more like his _home,_ and when (if) he asked Gregory to live with him in a romantic sense, he'd want it to be there for the first time. Perhaps. 

Mycroft was struggling to understand his emotions. When he thought about it logically, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. If Gregory would be more comfortable in the other place, shouldn't they go there? But what if that sends the wrong message and scares the detective away? He took a deep breath to quell the anxieties stirring in his chest. 

“In that case, why don’t you come with me and look at the rest of the place? You can think about other ways to ‘brighten it up’ so to speak. However I ask that you please consider my input as well.”  
“Well, duh, Mycroft, it’s your house. Are you so used to people just following your orders that you don’t think that when you let others make choices affecting you, they’ll be considerate to you as well?”  
“Most people usually aren’t.” Mycroft stated bluntly, with a hint of a sneer. 

Greg could tell it was a sore spot for the man and didn’t push it. He did find it sad though, that there wasn’t anyone in Mycroft’s life that he believed would want him to feel considered, even happy, about decisions made involving him. It must be a difficult life to lead. He was gaining more and more insight as to why Mycroft behaved the way he did - and the reasons were the opposite of what people seemed to think. He wasn’t heartless… but he was hurt, and self protecting. Greg had been a DI long enough to be able to read between the lines, even if Sherlock had constantly exclaimed otherwise. 

The remainder of the house had the same decor... high class luxuries in a dark and creepy flat. The kitchen was small, and the concrete walls still showed where tiles had been ripped off them. The tiles on the floor remained, however, and were unsettlingly white and black patterned. The fridge and freezer were a high quality stainless steel, stationed awkwardly in the middle of the wall. Greg hoped that there was at least better lighting over the benches so that one could actually see what they were preparing, or at least if they were going to be chopping food or fingers. 

Mycroft only showed Greg the door to his bedroom, which shared a wall with the guest bedroom. It was similarly worn down, with the large bolted lock. Greg wondered if Mycroft had them installed so that he'd feel safe enough to sleep. He sighed sadly at the thought - the poor man feeling so anxious and paranoid that he needed to sleep in a cell before assured enough of his safety.   
_I hope to change that._

The bathroom was the same mix of creepy and fancy, with the same black and white tiles over the floor. It did have a separate shower and bathtub, which given the small space, seemed a bit unnecessary.  
"I prefer to be either in a dedicated standing area or laying area, not some ambiguous mix." Mycroft said when noticing Gregory's confusion.   
"Hey, that's fine." Greg mumbled. 

The final room was the living room. By this stage, Greg had anticipated it to be dark and scary as well, and he was not disappointed. There was a modern luxurious looking couch spread out over the right wall, which was also concrete with hints of where wallpaper had once been. The lighting spread across the walls much like in Greg's room, and provided more stark shadows than warm glow. There was at least a telly, a reasonably sized flat screen, upon a wooden cabinet across from the couch. But apart from that, the room was uncomfortably bare. Greg never had much around in his flat, but it looked cluttered compared to Mycroft's (work) flat. 

"Yes, I think we should definitely start with some lighting in here."

Mycroft nodded gently.   
"And maybe some cushions and a blanket..." Greg continued, and chuckled when he saw Mycroft stifle a groan. 


	3. Comforting

Greg laid in bed. He couldn't sleep, but it didn't have anything to do with the foreign bed or the (still creepy) lighting. His insides felt like they were being torn out by icicles, leaving a frosty hole where they were supposed to be. He was curled around himself on his side, the covers up over him, his back to the door. He felt too exhausted to have his eyes fully open, but too much in turmoil to close them... and so his eyelids lulled half way between the two. He felt like every breath was an effort. He'd felt like that before his suicide attempt, but this time he just felt...defeated. There wasn't anything to be done about it. He was trapped. He was grateful for the help he was getting now, but it didn't seem to help the crippling depression. 

He felt like he wanted to cry, but he wasn't sure why... and without a reason in his mind, he didn't feel like he had a right to shed the tears. Still, his eyes were watery, and occasionally a solitary tear would run down his cheek. He could tell he was getting slightly lightheaded from the irregular and limited breathing. 

"No." Greg uttered. 

He felt the urge to harm himself once again. He hated it, but he couldn't seem to stop the learned association in his mind from those first few instances that harming made it better. Part of him said it wouldn't matter if he did, since he wasn't going to show anyone so it couldn't be degraded as 'for attention'. But he pulled up his nose at the idea of doing it at all, thinking it childish. He closed his eyes and concentrated on remaining in bed. 

"No. Not in Mycroft's house, Lestrade." 

Greg spoke firmly to himself, and used his surname to try establish some kind of authority over his emotions. It didn't work, of course, but at least something inside his mind clicked that it would be unfair on Mycroft to self harm in his home. Well, house. Mycroft had explained that this was more just a 'dwelling', very close to work and easily maintained. He considered his other house his 'home'. 

Part of Greg had been crushed to learn that. His mind had danced around in circles, grabbing at any thought that made him feel worse and dangling it in his face for hours.   
_Did Mycroft not want me in his home? Am I not worth enough to be in his personal space? Does he actually not want me around? Am I being intentionally distanced? Does he think of me as just another part of his work?_

Greg shook his head, trying to shove the thoughts back away.   
_Mycroft is being kind, he's letting me make changes here even - he wouldn't do that if he didn't want me here or think of me as anything less than a friend.  
_ _Or perhaps I'm just another responsibility to him?  
_ _No, no he definitely doesn't treat me with the same detachment I see when he talks about, or with, his work._

Greg groaned out loud at the thoughts. The sudden assault on his ears dulled the thoughts back into the background for now. He sighed. He wished he'd stop feeling so hollow. He wished that he could feel something other than sorrow. It was in these moments he really wished that he felt numb instead. 

The feelings seemed to intensify, physically gripping his gut tightly. He wrapped his hands around his middle and cried out again. He not only felt this awful, but he was undeniably _trapped._ The room wasn't helping that feeling, with the large bolted door and the curtains that covered up just another blank space of wall - he'd tried to open them earlier, to get some light and sense of openness, but to his surprise he'd found just more concrete where there should have been glass. It bothered him more than he cared to admit, and he could feel the enclosed space weighing down on him. 

His hands began to shake. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with sharp feelings that broke the dam holding back his tears. He started to cry, and before long, he was balling. He didn't bother being quiet, knowing the concrete walls would keep his noises soft enough not to be noticed. 

The first time he'd cried like this in the hospital he'd felt no shame. He just let it all out. He'd just escaped dying, or rather, been forced to continue living, and he didn't give a damn about anyone's opinion. A few days in, he started feeling self conscious regarding his emotional behaviour around people, and had tried to suppress it. That had gone pretty horribly, ending in an uncontrollable outburst of pain and sorrow that drew a lot of attention to himself. Since then, he'd been trying hard to not hide absolutely everything, but just focus on other things while around people and leave the outbursts to when he was alone. 

Secretly he wanted either of his friends to find him when he was breaking. He was sure it was just another attempt for him to be able to show evidence that things weren't ok, but he had to admit he wanted the company. He wanted to not feel alone; he wanted to feel supported in his darkest times. He had already felt that way the day he woke up in hospital with John and Mycroft, but it had been fairly fleeting. There had been his anger outburst, and then he'd fallen asleep once he'd calmed down and put it behind him. 

He heard a soft knocking on his door. He clasped his mouth shut instantly and tried to be deathly silent.   
_Damn, I must have been louder than I thought… or these walls aren’t as thick as they seem._

"Gregory? May I come in?"

Greg remained silent. If he said yes, Mycroft would see him crying like a child; but also knew that if he said no, or stayed silent, Mycroft would probably get worried and come in anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He had been trying too hard to make his voice appear calm it seemed. 

"Yeah." Greg eventually croaked, turning himself so he faced the door.   
The handle twisted and the door opened to reveal a worried looking Mycroft. He was in his bedtime getup, with soft pants and a simple t-shirt. He had his head peering through the doorframe, waiting for permission before proceeding. 

Mycroft looked at the DI, curled up under the covers, with lines of pain streaking across his face and eyes red and puffy, still leaking tears. Mycroft's heart sank. He tentatively shuffled into the room and moved to sit on the bed at the foot end. 

"I don't know why, alright." Greg mumbled, looking away from his visitor.  
"I never asked for a reason." Mycroft said softly.   
"I know you always expect one." Greg uttered. He didn't actually know, but he was trying to ask if the man did. He'd surely correct him if wrong.   
"No, because the reason is always the same. You're depressed. That _is_ a legitimate reason, Gregory, for crying. For feeling down. For struggling. Any reason more is additional and compounding." 

Greg sighed again, glad that at least Mycroft wasn't judging him.   
"I can't help but feel like I should be able to control it." 

"I can understand that very well. I endeavour to control all the world around me, and it might surprise you that the aspect I fail most at is controlling myself." 

Greg looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Mycroft sighed softly, not usually being this open…but he felt that it was doing them both some good to share.   
“I am affected by the things I do and see more than I let on. In a position such as mine: caring is not an advantage.”  
“You said that to Sherlock.”   
“Yes, because it’s true for what he did as well. Sherlock was an emotional child, but grew detached from difficult emotions. He just couldn’t deal with them, and so eventually, he learned not to feel them. I however was not so fortunate. I can present icy detachment easily enough, but it is only a projection out of self preservation. I always did have difficulty with anxiety, and to this day I cannot control it. Sometimes I can delay it, deal with it alone, but not always.”  
“I’m trying to.”   
“It’s not healthy, Gregory. And it doesn’t help.”   
“Seems to work enough for you.”   
“Sometimes it’s all one can do. It would be better for you to not learn the behaviour to begin with.”  
“What makes you think I haven’t done that all my life?”

Mycroft paused. He was unaccustomed to speaking honestly about his feelings, but he was appreciative that Gregory was respectful towards him. He knew that there would likely not be another he’d share such details with. He realised that his friend was rather similar to himself in that matter, and felt privileged to be the one whom Gregory trusted enough to share thing with. He just wanted to help, in any way… he hurt hearing these things, seeing the man so broken, and not being able to do anything. Suddenly, he got an idea, but he wasn’t sure if he could follow through. 

“It’s always been a matter of hiding everything from everyone. Sure, I’m just an average bloke and so not good like you at covering it up, but at least I tried. Sometimes. I mean, not so much with John, cause I’d hoped he’d notice and help. I just want the pain to end, Mycroft… I’m just so tired of it, and everything being so much worse now means I can’t fight it.”   
Greg’s voice broke a few times, and he was bordering on crying again. 

“I wish I could alleviate some of that pain for you.” Mycroft whispered. He swallowed gently. “Move backwards.” 

Greg was confused at the order, but obeyed just the same. He shuffled backwards in the bed, and Mycroft moved up closer to sit in front of his chest in the concave space his curled body made.   


“Please tell me if I make you uncomfortable, and I will stop.” 

Greg nodded, and was slightly concerned about what was going to happen. He also felt a jolt of adrenaline from Mycroft’s close presence. The man reached out and placed his hand on Greg’s back, and began to softly stroke it in a large circle. Greg closed his eyes, revelling in the gentle touch. It was amazingly soothing. Mycroft’s hand was warm and soft, and the motion was slow and even. It seemed to calm the storm raging inside him. 

“I’m here.” Mycroft spoke. 

Greg didn’t respond, but he felt warmth spreading in his chest. Somehow Mycroft must have picked up on his fear of being alone. It was incredibly comforting, so much so that any awkwardness from the activity didn’t get a second thought. Greg breathed deeply, and regularly, to the rhythm of the strokes upon his back. His muscles no longer felt shaky. 

“Thank you, Myc.” Greg responded without thinking. He snapped his eyes opened and looked up at the man apologetically. “Erh, sorry, I mean Mycroft.”  
“It’s fine, Gregory. I do not object to you calling me an abbreviation in private.” 

Greg felt even more comforted. The annoying paranoia that Mycroft was just looking after him as part of his work, and not because he wanted to or cared, was squashed.   
Mycroft saw that Gregory had visibly relaxed, and smiled, proud that he was able to achieve something at least. 

“If it is alright with you, I will leave you to get some rest. You do look rather tired. But please, do come and wake me if you feel the need for company. And remember, it doesn’t have to be an emergency before you do so.” Mycroft said, smiling, and with a twinkle in his eye of affection. 

“Goodnight… Myc.”   
“Goodnight… Gregory.” 


	4. Refurbishing

“Um, Mycroft… where do we eat?” Greg asked, noting that there was no dining table in the house. 

“Oh, right. Sorry, I don’t usually eat a lot here, and when I do, the kitchen bench is usually sufficient.”  
“Alright… so…” Greg said, still asking for a solution.   
“It would seem I now require a table. If it is permissible, do get one today when you go out with John to buy the things you want to make your stay here more comfortable. And I would suggest going to the grocery store, as I do not have much in and I don’t know what you normally like.”  
“You… you want me to buy you a table?” Greg asked, thinking it sounded more like something Mycroft should choose. It should only be a job for him if they were a couple living together. As it was, he didn’t really have much say over what should be in Mycroft’s house… even if the man seemed to imply otherwise. 

“I would like you to select one, yes, however all I will be the one purchasing all of the items you choose.” Mycroft said in a tone that told Greg it was not optional.   
“Ok… anything… you prefer?”   
“Not really. But do remember to select some chairs to go with it. Please ensure that what you choose is of reasonable quality: I do so dislike wobbly surfaces and unstable seats.”  
“Ok… um, I wouldn’t… I don’t even know where to go looking for these kinds of things.”   
Greg said sheepishly. He was aware that Mycroft had a great amount of disposable income, but he still felt self conscious about the costs he was causing Mycroft to incur. He felt obliged to get whatever was cheap, much like he did in his own place. Something good enough to do its job for a reasonable amount of time. Nothing much more. Mycroft eyed him carefully, deducing the thoughts fleeting across the DI’s mind. 

“You will be driven about by my driver, and so I will get Anthea to give him locations where it is acceptable for you to make your selections from.” Mycroft stated, hoping it would alleviate some of the DI’s stress.   
“Oh, ok, thanks. Much easier. In that case, shall I just eat this cereal on the couch?” Greg asked, holding his bowl up higher. Mycroft smiled and nodded. 

Greg was worried he’d spill something on the couch, and so sat up as straight as possible. This was why he liked his couch at home: it wasn’t overly expensive, so he could relax and be himself around it without fear of damaging it. Mycroft didn’t seem to have that same ideology for his furniture.

“I have to leave for work in an hour, Gregory. John should be here in 45 minutes, so I suggest you might like to shower in anticipation for his arrival.” Mycroft’s voice resounded from the kitchen. Greg munched down the last of the cereal, not really tasting it anyway, and left to shower. 

He emerged from the bathroom with his hair still in disarray, but dressed neatly. He could hear John and Mycroft talking in the kitchen, and so he stepped down the short hall to his bedroom to gather the last of his things. It was the mention of his name that made him stop and listen. He didn’t like eavesdropping, but it was sometimes necessary in his job, and so he couldn’t help but follow the conversation. 

“I don’t understand Mycroft, if he’s that uncomfortable here, why are you making him stay here?”  
“I’m not forcing him, John.”  
“I mean why are you keeping him _here_ , and not in your manor? Surely that is more comforting than this … dungeon you have outfitted.” 

There was a silence, and Greg strained his ears to hear the reply.   
“Because here is only two minutes from my office.” Mycroft said exasperatedly.   
“Oh.” John responded with an understanding tone.  
“My manor is a reasonable distance away. If something were to happen… I would not make it there in time.” 

So that was the reason for being here. Greg was surprised that the reason was far more meaningful than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just because it was easy for Mycroft, or so that Greg didn’t damage anything, or even that Mycroft didn’t want him in his personal space (even though last night had discredited that line of thinking)… it was because Mycroft was _afraid_ to be too far away from him. It made Greg feel both cared for and guilty. 

“You’re worried he might try again?”   
“I can’t say for certain. I just cannot allow myself to be in that same position as last time.”  
“But we know, now… you will be watching him more closely, and so should notice earlier if that is the case…”   
“John, of course I will be watching him. I won’t make that mistake again. But I myself cannot bring myself to have that possibility again… I … I just can’t.” Mycroft said, his voice breaking. 

Greg could hear the panic in his voice, the fear. John might have picked up on it, but it was only because of Mycroft’s confession of anxiety last night that Greg could understand where he was coming from.   
“Alright.” John said hesitantly. “You should tell him, though, that you have cameras set up.”  
“I’m sure he is aware.” 

Greg’s eyes flickered about. No, he wasn’t aware… but now that it was mentioned, of course there would be. 

“Just be sure to tell him anyway, it’s a human courtesy. I’m … I’m glad that you’re taking care of him. He took care of me, and while I might not be able to return the favour exactly, I’m gonna try be around as much as I can. But the clinic needs me… I just came back, I can’t just leave it again. So you’ll have to work something else out for all the days I’m there. But that’s just three days a week.” 

Greg decided he’d heard enough, and walked into the kitchen.   
“I don’t need you to babysit me every free moment you have, mate.” Greg said, announcing his presence.   
“It’s not babysitting, Greg…I just care.”  
“I know, you’ve said. But it’d feel a hell of a lot like babysitting if you were to ‘watch’ me each day you have off work while Mycroft’s away. I’ll be fine, and I’ll let one of you know if I’m not, ok?”  


John looked hesitant, but Mycroft looked pleased.   
“Alright, if you say so. But we can discuss that later on. We’ve gotta get going… do you know where you want to go first?”  
“The driver does, apparently.”   
“I have instructed the driver with locations that are acceptable to purchase at. They will each send me out an invoice for your items. Have the larger items delivered at your convenience, Gregory.” Mycroft said, picking up his umbrella and making for the front door. 

“Alright, well, let’s go shopping I guess. Shame we can’t go to other stores, I would have loved to have gotten Mycroft a fluffy pink rug for the living room.” John said, laughing at the idea.   
“Well, who know’s what we’ll find wherever we’re sent? He did say ‘anything’, after all…” Greg said with a smile, but knew he’d only choose things Mycroft would agree with… as tempting as it was.


	5. Shopping

“This can’t be the right place.” 

Greg uttered to no one in particular as he and John got out into the store. It was a furniture place, containing everything from tables to rugs. And it was all very expensive. 

“Well, you know Mycroft.”  
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d want something so… costly… for just me being there a while.”   
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. He’d probably keep everything after you leave, and knowing him… he’d be happy to give you anything you wanted regardless of what it cost.” 

John stifled a snigger as he said the last of the sentence, hinting at Mycroft’s feelings. The doctor had noticed immediately after Greg’s attempted suicide just how much the British Government cared for Greg. And since that day, Mycroft had been exuberantly affectionate (for him at least). John had asked him about it once, and received an actual blush and stutter that was clearly a lie in response. John had grinned like a child being let in on a big secret - and in a way it was, except Mycroft was rubbish at hiding it. 

“This chair here is worth more than probably most of my furniture combined!” Greg exclaimed, looking at the price tag of an old fashioned wood and leather chair.   
“Just pick something you’re comfortable with.” John said, not really paying attention.   
“Ikea then.” Greg grumbled, aware that John wasn’t listening. 

He decided to find a table first. The store had quite a range, however most of them were unreasonably priced and large or antiquated-looking. Greg didn’t even know where the table would fit into the house - so he tried to look at the smallest ones on offer. They did have three two-seater tables, and one of them caught his eye. It was made with a black coated metal frame, with a mahogany slab on top. It was very industrial looking, and (coincidentally) the cheapest on offer. Greg wobbled it firmly, and was pleased that it didn’t move at all. Sturdy was the one thing Mycroft asked for. He tried to move it, but it was actually very heavy - or bolted to the floor. Luckily, there were two chairs that went with it, so he didn’t have to bother about matching some with the unique table. 

Greg looked up at the sales assistant, who promptly came over to assist.   
“Can I help you with something sir?” She asked in a pleasant tone.   
“Yeah, I’ll have one of these, thanks.” Greg said, patting the top of the table. 

The assistant raised her eyebrow at him, but nodded. Greg briefly wondered if all of the furniture here was a ‘one of a kind’ item, and not just display with stock in the back. He mentally shrugged, knowing it didn’t matter either way. 

“Yes sir. Will there be any other purchases or do you want to organise payment and delivery options now?”  
“Oh, I’ll be getting a few more things. Mycroft said he requested to be invoiced for it?”  
“Oh, yes sir. I will need to see some identification to verify you are authorised to make purchases in Mr Holmes’ name. Please, take your time looking at the rest of the store, and let me know if you need any further assistance. I will be at the counter.”  
  
Greg nodded. He got the feeling that he woman was initially checking to make sure he was able to pay before assisting him further. He sighed.   
_I guess I can understand that, I mean… I don’t look like the kind of bloke that would have the money to shop here. But really, it’s not like I could have picked up the table and left…_

Lamps were next on the agenda. He made his way over to the well-lit section, displaying their range of lighting options. It was significantly more difficult to choose what he wanted out of the vast array than it was to select a table out of three.  
“You alright?” John said, appearing behind him.   
“There’s so many…where do I even start? How do I know what he’ll like? What’s the difference between this one and that one?”  
“Slow down, Greg.” John said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He could see things were starting to get a bit overwhelming for the detective. He knew it just happened when being that depressed - all the emotions are unstable and it doesn’t take much for something to suddenly thrust one over the edge and lose it completely. And yes, he knew that from his own experience. 

“I’m sorry…” Greg grumbled, suddenly aware that he was taking in large gulps of air.   
“Don’t be. Look, I know whatever you pick, Mycroft won’t complain. He wants it mostly for your comfort; to try not to think of him too much.”  
“But it’s his house, and he’s paying for it…”  
“For you, Greg.” John reminded firmly. He was vaguely aware of the shop assistant eyeing them from afar, and thought that he’d take Greg for a walk soon for some ‘fresh air’ if he wasn’t able to compose himself. The last thing he needed was for nosy sales people asking him questions. 

Greg gulped. He focused intensely on the floor.   
“I’m sorry, John. I don’t know why …”  
“It happens. Trust me, I know. All of a sudden it’s just too much; I get it.”  
Greg looked into John’s eyes and saw true understanding in them. He nodded and straightened himself. He took a deep breath. 

“We’ll take our time, ok? Just go through them one by one.” John said calmly, soothingly.   
“Thanks.” Greg mumbled, honestly appreciative of John’s comforting presence. It wasn’t quite like Mycroft’s presence, perhaps more clinical, but it was nice all the same. 

After an hour of going through the lamps, taking breaks to sit and ‘think’, Greg had selected seven. Someone who hadn’t been to Mycroft’s work flat might assume that Greg was being exuberant in his purchases. However John’s opinion was that he was in fact being rather conservative. 

“So these two for the hall, one on each end.” Greg said, indicating to a pair of tall lamps with black wrought iron stands and wide opaque glass bowls holding the globe.  
“This one for above the kitchen bench, and this one for the corner of the kitchen.” Greg listed off, pointing to a simple down light and then another tall lamp respectively.   
“And then these for the lounge room…” They were the same style as the hallway lamps, with the twisting black metal, however these had glass spheres on the top encasing the bulb.   
“And finally, this one for the bedroom.” Greg concluded, showing a lamp that didn’t match the others in the slightest. It was tall, the pillar a simple rod of stained wood, with a large shade made of linen. It looked a whole lot more cosy than the ones Greg had selected for the rest of the house, but he believed Mycroft would like the dark metal ones more than his fondness for soft wood and material. Greg had steered clear of anything with sharp bits or pointed glass; opting for round, opaque, warming, and soft themes instead. 

The sales assistant who had taken his order of the table earlier made note of his lighting choices, and then proceeded to ask about globes.   
“Warm. Whatever the wattage on the lamp says, the default I guess. Just make it a warm light.” Greg stated, and she nodded, writing the note down.   
“Do you have cushions and blankets? And maybe rugs?” Greg asked.   
“Oh yes, certainly sir. They are over by the couches. Just turn down past where the tables are, you can’t miss them.” 

John and Greg followed the woman’s instructions, and easily found the large assortment of seating options. Behind them, there was a large rack of rugs. Next to that, a large bookshelf stood filled to the brim with different cushion patterns. They walked up to the rugs, and one rug in particular made John giggle and rush over.   
  
“Oh, Greg, come on… you have to.” He said, grinning.   
“I dunno, John. It’s a rather expensive prank.” Greg said, eyeing the price tag attached to the extremely plush light pink rug.   
“Yes, you’re right. I know. But to have seen his face when he walked into his living room…man, that’s priceless.” 

Greg smiled, and couldn’t help but run his hands through the pile of the rug.   
“Mmm, it is lovely. It’s a shame I don’t see Mycroft enjoying plush rugs…”  
“It's for you, though…” John said, still grinning.   
“I don’t want a pink rug, either, John. But, these other colours are indeed tempting.”  


The detective stroked the rugs hanging beside the pink one, letting the pile weave through his fingers. There was a white one, a beige one, and a black one as well as the pink. The white would just get dirty, and Greg couldn’t help but think it an utterly ridiculous colour choice for a rug. The black would be too dark; despite being more Mycroft’s taste, it would negate the warming effect of the lamps he’d chosen. 

Greg flipped through the options.   
“Are we going anywhere else? I mean this store seems to have everything, but maybe we could find something at another place?”  
“I don’t know Greg, your guess is as good as mine.”   
“Yeah. Probably something we should have asked the driver.” Greg said, smiling awkwardly.   
  
“Yeah. He’s probably still there, I’ll go ask.” John said, and turned around before Greg could respond. John had been rather enthusiastic to prove his usefulness towards the inspector since he’d been admitted to the hospital. Sometimes it was nice, and other times it was rather obvious he was still trying to make up for his behaviour. Greg didn’t like his friend behaving like that. He would rather John do things for him because he wanted to, or was being nice… not out of a sense of obligation or regret. He didn’t really have it in him to say anything, though. Not with the fear of pushing John away entirely. 

Greg stood by the rugs, and sheepishly looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Content that he was alone, he put his face to the fluffy rug and let the hairs brush over his skin. He smiled, eyes closed, and relished the feeling. He didn’t know why he liked soft things, but he always had enjoyed the sensation. He never allowed himself to buy anything fluffy as it didn’t really suit the demeanour of his flat. And he was secretly embarrassed. 

Quickly, Greg stood back up straight. He went red and looked around to make sure that no one saw him. He coughed softly to himself, and then waited stoically for John to return as if nothing had happened. 

“The driver said he has instructions to take us to the grocery store and to … oh, I’ve forgotten the name of it already, some ponce-y sounding place that sells bed linen and housewares and the like apparently.”   
“Ah, right, thanks. Mycroft’s bedding is perfectly fine already though.”  
“Heh, and you would know that now, would you?”

Greg’s eyes blew wide, and he choked on thin air. His face turned scarlet and he started rambling.   
“Wwwha? No, no no I haven’t… nothing, seriously, I haven’t seen inside his…”  
“Whoa, Greg, relax… it was a joke! I know you meant the bed you were sleeping in, in your room. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to panic you.” 

John held up his hands in front of him in a sign of submission.  
“You ok?” John asked after a moment.   
“Yeah, sorry. It was just out of the blue. I guess I’m a bit …”  
“It's fine, Greg. Look, I’m not making fun of you for liking Mycroft.”   
“You know?”  
“C’mon, Greg… it was pretty obvious. Probably obvious enough for Mycroft even.” John said, putting his hand on Greg’s shoulder and smiling with a soft twinkle in his eye.   
“You… you think he knows?”  
“I don’t fathom to guess what the great Mycroft Holmes knows. But I don’t think he’d be opposed to you hinting further…” John said, still smiling that cheeky smile. 

Greg’s stomach dropped and he wanted to turn away. He looked away from his friend but still couldn’t move because of the firm grasp upon his shoulder.   
“Hey, it’s fine…”  
“No, it’s not. I can’t feel like that towards him when I’m… like this.” Greg managed to get out.   
“Like what?” John asked, honestly not knowing if Greg was referring to his mental state or something else like his body.   
“Broken. A mess. No one wanted me when I was a strapping successful young lad, confident in himself and with vigour for the job… so how in the hell could someone like Mycroft want me when I’m none of those things?”  
  
John really wanted to poke fun, and ask if that meant Greg wasn’t a lad anymore, but bit his tongue in favour of something more productive. 

“None of those things really matter when you’re talking about caring deeply for another. And let’s be honest, it takes catastrophe to break that shell of Mycroft’s… he’s known you for years and years, and yet it’s only been since your attempt that he’s let it show through that he cares for you.”

“Doesn’t mean he should.” Greg said stubbornly. He really didn’t feel like he was worth anything. It confused him that he had moments when he got excited at the thought of pursuing something reciprocated with the elder Holmes, but then there were other moments like this one where he just fell further down a self hating spiral ending in him feeling worthless. 

John could sense things were taking a downward turn, and so decided they best move on. A change of scenery, or at least some privacy in the car, would do Greg good.   
“Come on, let’s go to the other shop now.”  
“No rug?” Greg mumbled.  
“It’s not that important, really. You can always come back again another time.” 

Greg nodded, and allowed himself to be shown to the counter. He flashed his ID at the shop assistant, and made arrangements for delivery of the items. They would be shipped in two days, provided Mycroft paid the invoice tomorrow. Greg promptly then left, and sat in silence in the car. He didn’t really feel like much more shopping. 


	6. Another Session

Greg wasn’t sure exactly why he’d asked to see the same psychologist as before, as he’d only seen her once. Mycroft had insisted on a psychiatrist of his choosing, and remained unyielding. And so Greg had found himself with a psychologist and a psychiatrist. Even though Greg knew Mycroft’s choice in help would be very qualified and experienced, he found that he preferred talking to the therapist he chose. Well, sought after himself, in any case. 

“It’s good to see you again Greg. How are things?” Imogen asked as Greg entered the room and sat on in the chair.   
“Um, ok I guess.”  
“You know it’s perfectly acceptable for you to be honest and tell me when things are crap for you, Greg.” 

Greg gave a soft smile. That directness was one of the reasons he’d grown to like Imogen. She’d even come to the hospital three times, and even though he suspected Mycroft had something to do with that, he was grateful.   
“Yeah ok it’s crap. How did you know?” Greg bantered.   
“Because of your demeanour. And honestly, after only about a month from a suicide attempt, I’d be more concerned if you actually were ok.” 

Greg nodded into his chest. They’d gotten out a bit of stuff while in the hospital, but it still didn’t feel quite private. She had been surprised that he’d attempted suicide, and told him that she regretted not calling after him when he missed the scheduled appointment. 

“I guess I’m still embarrassed, and hating myself.”  
“Has anything happened lately that you are particularly hard on yourself about?”  
“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t fun to get all overwhelmed and feel like I was headed for a panic attack or something just because there were a lot of lamps to choose from. I don’t like not being able to just be normal in public at least.”  
“Ok I’m going to assume you were in a store shopping for lamps? And really, Greg, what is normal? If you are referring to how you were before you attempted, then might I suggest that it could be better not to return to that?”  
“I just don’t want to break down in public. I’ve tried hard to keep everything together, and just let it out when I’m alone. But it’s so hard to do, and it seems like sometimes I don’t have any control whatsoever.”  


Imogen nodded and made a few notes. She smiled at him. 

“It’s ok not to have control over everything, Greg.”  
“Oh, I know, I don’t want to control everything. Then I'd be like Mycroft. I just want to be able to keep it together long enough to get away and be alone.”  
“Well, that’s certainly a manageable goal for now. Did you want to focus on just that for today, or were there other things you wanted to talk about?”  
  
Greg paused and thought. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about. He felt he could be more open with Imogen than Cathy, his other psych. If he was honest he wasn’t sure exactly what he was allowed to say with regards to Mycroft, and so he’d generally avoided talking about him in their sessions. But he really wanted to bring up his feelings, and the fact he was now technically living with the man. 

“Um, I wanted to talk a little about something that’s been gnawing at me for… well, ages, but mostly causing trouble the last few weeks.”

“Certainly. What would that be?”  
“Mycroft. I’m just… I’m not sure exactly what I can say.”  
  
Imogen looked confused for a moment. 

“You can say anything you like, Greg.”  
“No, I… as I might have told you, he works for the government. And so I’m not sure if I’d be breaching any kind of … I don’t know… security or secrecy laws when I say things about him?”  
“I see. Well, I too am bound to secrecy regarding the information you give me.”  
“Yeah but I can still get shanked for it.” Greg said crudely. It made Imogen smile.   
“Indeed, you can. Well, I should think that as long as you don’t tell me anything about what it is Mycroft does for his work, then it should be fine.” 

Greg was reassured by the woman’s sincere voice and smile. She was right, though. He just wouldn’t say ‘Mycroft IS the British Government’, and he should be fine. 

“Alright. Well, he’s letting me stay with him.”  
“That’s nice of him. Is there any particular reason?”  
“I didn’t want to go back to my flat. Not yet. I didn’t want to be alone.”  
“Yes, we’ve discussed how frightening being alone is for you. Have you noticed that fear being stronger since Sherlock’s death?”  
“Well, of course I have! I literally HAVE been more alone since then.”  
“Yes, I’m sorry. I more meant the irrational side of the fear, but you are quite right that you have reason to feel more alone now.”

Imogen looked a little uncomfortable, but quickly resumed her ‘intently listening’ pose. Greg wondered if other clients noticed it as well. But then again, other clients weren’t detectives who’d spent almost 8 years around Holmes brothers. 

“I like being there with him, and I know he wants me there. I overheard him telling John that he was afraid to be too far away from me in case something happened again.”  
“Understandable.”  
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it. I guess it’s sweet in a way. Oh god, please don’t tell him I called him sweet.”  


Imogen raised her eyebrow at him, as if to remind him of the confidentially she was bound to. Greg understood, and nodded, continuing. 

“Anyway, yeah… there was this weird moment when I was in bed. The whole house looks like a done up dungeon, and I wasn’t feeling the best overall. I curled up and cried, thinking that the solid wall would stop the noise… but next thing I know, Mycroft’s at the door and comes and sits on the bed with me. He talks a bit, and then starts softly stroking my back. And I enjoyed it. It was… so calming.”  
“Slow repetitive contact is often very soothing to people.” Imogen offered. 

“Yeah. The thing is though, I wasn’t embarrassed about it. I didn’t feel awkward laying there, all stuffy from crying my eyes out, being softly stroked by the man.”  
“It sounds like he cares deeply for you. It’s good to have friends that close.”

Greg swallowed. He had to say it. There was no reason to not say it.   
“I like him.”   
“As more than a friend?” Imogen clarified.   
“Yes.” 

Imogen noticed that the detective had gone bright red, and was nervously averting his gaze. 

“Does that embarrass you Greg?”  
“I… I don’t know.”  
“Well, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed for liking someone.”  
“Yeah… I know. And it’s not because he’s a bloke, either… I’ve dated men in the past. It’s cause it’s…he’s… Mycroft. He’s always been my best mate’s omnipotent older brother. I mean sure, I noticed he was sexy when I met him. But he's got this thing about presenting to everyone that he’s a heartless bastard that is not to be messed with. It was only after a few years that I saw that he did have emotions under that mask. And even then, it was mostly when he was caring for Sherlock.”  
“So you think that there’s no way for your feelings to be reciprocated?”  
“I… I didn’t think so, but then since I shot myself, he’s been different.”  
“Different how?”  
“Caring, affectionate… in ways he never was before. He’s been considerate towards me, and … and like that night, he never would have done that beforehand. I guess I’m just worried he’s doing all of this out of pity for me, or because he doesn’t want me to kill myself and thinks making me feel wanted will keep me alive.”

“Ok, I can understand why you have some issue with it. I would imagine it’d be hard to feel like he’s being genuine in his affections. But I will say that it is possible he considered you more than just a friend beforehand, and just is now acting out those affections because the realisation that he might have missed his chance dawned on him. It often happens when someone survives an attempt; they experience things from people who are ‘taking the chance while they still have it’. Sometimes it’s good, like hopefully this is; and other times it’s not so good. I would suggest you talk with Mycroft about it.”

Greg huffed.  
“Talking with Mycroft about his feelings? That’s harder than trying to get a criminal to admit to murder without evidence against them. And believe me when I say I know what that’s like.”  


Imogen nodded at him.   
“Still, I believe the only way to resolve this conflict inside yourself is to know what’s going on. If you can bring it up somehow, it would be great. Perhaps if you offer to share some of your own personal feelings or difficulties. I’m not meaning necessarily you tell him how you feel right out, but people generally are more open to sharing intimate or personal details when they feel like it is mutual sharing.” 

Greg considered it. He knew she was right, and that he really did want to know where Mycroft was at. But there was no way to just outright ask him. And Mycroft shied away from anything emotional. Well, anything spoken… except for when he was comforting him that night. Perhaps if he was open again about some of his feelings, Mycroft would share again? But he didn’t want to force it, and he certainly didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable or think that he could only share negative emotions.

By the end of the session, Greg had decided that he would take advantage of Mycroft’s observant behaviour and leave more and more hints for him to pick up on. He would slowly do things that would eventually not be able to be ignored as just casual interest or something other than what Greg intended. And he could judge Mycroft’s reactions to them to see if he should keep pursuing further or potentially even talk about it. 

Greg smiled softly to himself as he rode in Mycroft’s car back home - well, to Mycroft’s flat. He felt like he was Sherlock conducting an experiment. He’d often wondered if his genius friend had conducted such experiments on his brother while growing up. He felt a little warm inside, as well as missing and longing, as he felt closer to Sherlock than he had in what felt like a long time. 


	7. Emotional Connections

“So, do you like the things I chose, Myc?”  


Mycroft looked up at Greg from his newspaper. It was morning, and Mycroft had decided to have a half day. He rarely got much time off, and so always got it when he requested it. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to admire the things Gregory had chosen the previous night, but he did find the extra light not unpleasant. 

“Yes, I must say you have excellent taste, or at least, judgement for what would suit the house.”   
“I’m glad.”

There was a moment where Greg could see Mycroft hesitating to say something. And so he remained smiling, not too expectant, and waited to see if Mycroft would continue.   
“Thank you for considering me, Gregory.” 

Mycroft’s voice was a low rumble. Greg could tell he was embarrassed, and a little apprehensive about Greg’s response.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s what people who actually care about you do freely.”   
Greg purposefully avoided using the word ‘friends’. He noticed that the other man’s cheeks flushed slightly pink and he busied himself in the paper to try and hide it.   
“Sherlock never did.”  
“Sherlock was your brother Myc, and I know for a fact he did care about you.”  
“No, consider me, I mean…”  
“Yeah, well, again … he was your brother. Brothers do that. I’m sure he would have said that you didn’t consider him either, even if you did. Because let’s be honest, you didn't always consider his feelings or preferences…”  
“I considered his health more important than allowing him to choose destructive habits.”

Greg could tell Mycroft was getting defensive, and so tried to steer the conversation away. He’d noticed that Mycroft would visibly cringe when he’d talk while eating, and so took a large mouthful of cereal and began to talk. 

“You cared for him, I know, don’t have to tell me mate.”  
“Gregory would you desist!”  
“With what?” Greg said, purposefully leaving his mouth open a bit too long with the half masticated cereal in plain sight. He saw the British Government tremble.   
“Please either eat, or talk. You know I dislike you multitasking in that matter.”  
“Sorry, Myc.” Greg said with a sly grin. Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes when he realised Gregory had done it on purpose.

“You know, if you want to stop talking about something, you can just address me about it. You don’t have to engage in cringeworthy, disgusting activities.”   
“Really, I wouldn’t have thought you’d welcome being told to shut it.”   
“Well no, not when you do it in that manner. I also do not like being manipulated.”  
“Nah, that wasn’t manipulating you. I wouldn’t dream of trying to manipulate the great Mycroft Holmes!” Greg sarcastically quipped.   
“I’d hope not, because I’d beat you at that game before you knew you were playing.” Mycroft said with a false scowl, the corners of his lips threatening to burst into a grin. 

Greg smiled, a warm, genuine smile, and returned to eating (respectfully). It wasn’t often he felt ok enough to give genuine smiles, but he was glad that he could at least sometimes… because he knew Mycroft could tell the difference. And his heart felt like it warmed enough to melt some of the ice that imprisoned it most days when he saw Mycroft return his genuine smile… like it just then. 

“You look so different when you smile. Compared to your work face, I mean.”  
“My ‘work face’?” Mycroft enquired.   
“Yeah, the face you put on whenever you’re about to head back to work. I’ve seen it often enough now, and it’s even more obvious now that I see you before you head out to work in the morning. It’s like you go from being a lovely person to being a cold, detached… I want a different word than ‘robot’, but you get the idea.”  
“I believe we’ve talked about the necessity of my façade for my work.”  
“Yeah, I was meaning more that I want to see you smile more. I like it.”   
Greg didn’t wait for Mycroft to respond. He stood up and took his bowl to the kitchen. 

Mycroft blushed further. Gregory enjoyed seeing him smile… that made him want to smile more often. He mentally cursed himself for his affections. It was a lot more difficult than he anticipated to control himself with the detective living in his house. He desperately wanted to say compliments back to the man, to tell him he thought that his smile was adorable, but he knew how that sounded and it scared him too much to try. 

Mycroft folded his paper and looked about the room. The items Gregory had bough certainly made the place feel more cosy. His choice in table and lamps were perfect. The cushions did match the couch well, and the throw blanket gave a warm feeling to the room. He could hear Gregory in the kitchen, washing his bowl and putting it away.

He had an hour before he had to go to work. Mycroft wasn’t sure exactly how to spend that time - he didn’t entertain, and he didn’t know what friends did together when they were ‘spending time together’. He was cautious of not doing things that could be interpreted as romantic. It wasn’t because he didn’t _want_ to pursue romantic things with Gregory, but rather he was afraid that Gregory wasn’t in a place emotionally to begin something like that. He wanted to be a supportive friend first; he couldn’t live with himself if he caused an awkward situation where Gregory felt uncomfortable being around him and thus wound up alone. But there was always that voice in his head that said that Gregory wanted him too, and it could give him a purpose and reason to enjoy life again. 

The man in question returned to the living room where they’d set up the dining table, and seated himself back in the chair across from Mycroft.   
“What are you thinking about?” Greg asked, noting the distant expression on Mycroft’s face.   
“Finding a purpose.” Mycroft said, not really aware of what he was saying until it had already come out.   
“But you have a purpose, Myc. A very important one. You’re the British Government remember?” Greg laughed.   
“No, I didn’t mean …” Mycroft began, but sighed. Greg frowned in concern when he saw the sorrow that flashed across the man’s face. 

“What is it?”  
“Nothing.”  
“No, you can’t just hide your feelings, remember? You told me it was bad, and you don’t need to around me.” Greg reasoned, hoping Mycroft would listen.   
“I… it’s just… you think my entire purpose is my job."  
“Oh. No, it was a joke, Mycroft.”  
“Based on fact, Gregory. You, like so many others, see me as my job. Granted you don’t think only what I can do for you because of my job, but you still see me as mattering only because of the work I do.” 

Mycroft didn’t like how it sounded, how Gregory could interpret his words, but didn’t apologise for them. They were true, and his friend was right - the detective was the only person that he had to be honest about feelings with. Even if he knew he couldn’t be entirely honest about _all_ his feelings. 

“Mycroft… I want to tell you that your work doesn’t matter to me, but I won’t for two reasons. First, because I honestly don’t know exactly what you do or what you’re in charge of, and so I could actually care a whole lot about the work you are doing… and I don’t want to lie to you. Secondly, I don’t think you’d listen to me either way because I think YOU think you only matter because of your work.”

Greg stared into Mycroft’s bright blue eyes and held his gaze firmly. He didn’t want to seem like he didn’t want to have this conversation, and didn’t want Mycroft to hide or run away. For a man with as much power as Mycroft, he did tend to run away from personal problems far too often. Mycroft clasped his eyes shut and took a breath. Gregory was right. He did see himself as mattering only because of what he could do in his job.

“Yes, you are right, Gregory. But perhaps not for the reasons you think.”  
“Oh?”  
“I don’t think of myself as mattering only because of my work, I think of myself mattering only TO my work… because I have nothing else to offer anyone outside of my job.”

Greg thought about the statement for a moment. Mycroft looked resigned, like he’d just confessed something horrible.   
“You… you think people only care about you because of you being some upper class powerful dictator?”  
“Is this supposed to be helping my feelings, Gregory?”  
“Right, sorry, I meant that you’re not that. I mean yeah you’re upper class and a bit arrogant at times, and undoubtedly in a position of great power… but I don’t think you’re a dictator… well actually I have no idea how you run your job or how it works. Alright sorry, I’m not making a whole lot of sense here. What I mean is… Mycroft, you matter in many more ways than just the duties you perform for the government.” 

Mycroft gave an avoidant shuffle to the words, showing that he didn’t believe them. 

“And as for you not having anything else… you have me, right? I’m not part of your work. And you matter to me. And there’s John too, and I know you matter to him as well.” Greg said, adding in the thing about John to hopefully not make it too obvious what his intentions were.   
He decided to drop his intention of ‘experimenting’ with Mycroft’s feelings. Mycroft was being a lot more open than he expected, and Greg didn’t want him to feel betrayed or manipulated later on.

“Thank you, Gregory. You matter a great deal to me, and it makes me happy to hear that it is at least in part reciprocated.” 

Greg swallowed awkwardly and blushed at hearing those words.   
“More than in part, I think.” Greg mumbled, not sure if he wanted Mycroft to hear him or not. 

Clearing his throat, Mycroft sat up straight.   
“Before I leave for work, I do want to talk to you about you returning to work.”   
Greg nodded, and sat up straighter himself. He was rather glad for the topic change. 

“Mr Anderson has been rather helpful in my communications with him.”  
“Seriously, Anderson? Helpful?”  
“Yes. Surely you noticed both his and Ms Donovan’s change in behaviour when they came to see you in the hospital.”  
“Well, yeah, but I thought that was just ‘cause they were seeing me in the hospital. I didn’t think they’d stay like that.”  
“Well, as far as I can tell, Ms Donovan has returned to her usual self. She is managing quite well in the office, actually, in your absence. Mr Anderson however has been a bit more… emotionally strained. He and I have discussed what is to happen when you return to work, and has promised to be considerate towards you. Also he has agreed to notify me of any change in your behaviour.”  
“Ah, so you’ve recruited Anderson into your army of minions.” Greg said lightheartedly, trying to distract from the complicated feelings he was having regarding his work. 

“If you want to put it that way. He is just concerned for your welfare, much as I am.”  
“Yeah but not in the same way.”   
“No, of course not. But he has been somewhat affected by recent events. My sources tell me he is no longer his arrogant and loud self at work, but instead rather withdrawn.”  
“Oh.”  
“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I had assured Mr Anderson, as well as his superiors, that my brother was not a criminal mastermind, and that Jim Moriarty was real. My testimony carries some weight, and so your Chief Superintendent is not to speak otherwise anymore lest he incur significant… let’s just say, difficult consequences.”  
“As in he would just disappear?” Greg asked with a smirk.  
“As much as I would like to do that, no. However several inconvenient truths would come to light that would compromise his position and marriage.”  


Greg chuckled. He liked the idea of Mycroft blackmailing his boss. And it didn’t arouse him, no… not at all. Greg coughed and shifted in his seat. Mycroft eyed him for a moment, and Greg wondered if he could tell what was running through his mind (and body), but the man continued. 

“And so whenever you feel ready to go back to work, we believe there is a task which you should be glad to undertake. I know you dislike paperwork, however I believe you will make an exception in this case.”  
“What is it? I don’t really like having my life planned out for me.”  
“Well considering you tried to end your life, I believe I have a right to plan it out for you as you seemed contented in not making any more choices regarding it.”

Mycroft’s words were harsh, but they were coated in grief and panic. He was still deeply hurt from almost losing Gregory, and it would likely be a sore spot for him for some time. Greg wanted to angrily retort, but he noticed the pain that it was spoken with and instead felt guilty. He hung his head in submission and uttered for Mycroft to continue. 

“I’m sorry, Gregory, I didn’t mean to say that… it’s just, very painful still. Believe me when I say I do want to make things better for you in any way I can. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you, but I was honest when I said I feel entitled to make decisions for you. I am, even if by proxy, the reason you are still with me. I feel responsible for your life; not that I am in possession of, nor entitled to, it. Your life is a precious thing that I must do all I can to preserve until it can flourish once again… I do not intent to dominate over it and bend it to my will. 

“The job I believed you would enjoy doing was clearing my dear brother’s name. I would assist where I could, of course, however there is a limit to what I can do because of the Secrecy Act.”  
  
Greg was struck speechless. Mycroft never spoke so … colourfully. Greg went from feeling angry, to guilty, to feeling loved. It was very clear how much he’d hurt Mycroft in his attempt, and how Mycroft now felt pressured to keep in alive. But it was the value of his life that Mycroft spoke of that touched him the most. 

“You… you really think that?” Greg asked incredulously.   
“Yes,I believe it would eventually be of great benefit to you and John in particular to have Sherlock exonerated from his ‘fraud’ status.”  
“No, the stuff about me. My… life.”  
“Oh." Mycroft went red yet again, and looked down at the table. “Yes.”

Greg stood and walked over to Mycroft. He looked up at the detective with confused blue eyes. Greg said nothing, but reached out and held him close. The embrace was tender, loving, and warm. Mycroft’s body stiffened at first but then relaxed into Greg’s hold. He lifted his hands up, shaking slightly, and tentatively grasped around Greg’s waist. Greg made no objections, and so Mycroft held tighter. He let his head rest against Greg’s chest, feeling instantly calmed from hearing the steady thrum of the man’s heartbeat. 

“I promise I’ll do all I can to not take it from you, Myc.” Greg all but whispered. He knew it wasn’t as reassuring as promising that he would definitely stay alive, but he knew Mycroft appreciated honest statements over idyllic ones. But Greg was honestly starting to feel attachments grounding him to the Earth and making him want to fight to stay. 

“Thank you…dear.” Mycroft muttered, his heart pounding in anxiety from using the term of endearment. He said it barely audibly, but still hoped that Gregory heard him. The man said nothing, but did hold on to him tighter - and so Mycroft assumed (hoped) that he was heard, and it was ok. 


	8. Confessions

“Myc, you really don’t have to have someone come over and watch me while you go to work. The guy that came around yesterday was a bit creepy.”  
“Oh? How so? I will not ask him to come again.”  
“No, it wasn’t anything really that he did… he just kinda stood at the back of whatever room I was in, like some security guard. He didn’t interact much, and while I appreciated him not staring all the time, he still spent a lot of the time looking out over the room as if something were about to happen. I’m not that fragile.”  
“Oh. Well… that is his job, Gregory. Not anyone is permitted onto my premises, and so I assigned one of the security guards to just be in the house. I felt you would be more comfortable with that than an MI6 agent.” 

Greg frowned. Mycroft was being considerate, but it was still not what he wanted.   
“No, I … I’m grateful for that thought, really, but I don’t want anyone like that around.”  
“I understand, dear, but you cannot inconvenience your friends all the time.”  


Greg suddenly got very angry; offended even.   
“ _I_ cannot? What? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not the one demanding to be watched!”

Mycroft realised his mistake, and sunk slightly.   
“I’m sorry. I meant that I could not ask that of your friends.”  
“Yeah, exactly right. They’ve got their lives and I don’t want to be a burden to them! And for the last time, I don’t want to be watched all day!”

Mycroft let his head hang, looking at the floor, and mumbled something that Greg didn’t pick up on.   
“What?” Greg demanded.   
“I said you might not want it, but you need it.” Mycroft gulped, and said ever so softly, “ _I_ need it.” 

Greg snorted, and then sighed.   
“I’m not just waiting for a chance to off myself, Myc. Or did you not believe me yesterday?”

Mycroft looked back up at Greg, who saw the array of emotions in those big wide eyes. The man was still scared of what might be, and determined to protect him, and … something else. Care, affection… _love?  
_ “I do. I am just… anxious, and my mind tells me that it is not without reason.” 

Greg let his head fall so that his chin hit his chest, and then looked back up at Mycroft.   
“Listen to me, Myc. I care a lot about you, and I wouldn’t just abandon you anymore. Things have changed since …”  
“You are still depressed, and I can’t help but worry something will happen, or even that nothing will happen, and you will react violently against yourself without thinking. I hope that you can at least appreciate that in those moments, one’s mentality shifts, and so you may not think to come to me for help.” 

Greg felt like he was on the spot. He started having trouble breathing as the emotions overwhelmed him. It wasn’t just sadness, but it was more like all of his emotions filled a pool and he’d fallen into it. He was suddenly uncomfortable having this conversation in the hallway. He had an uncontrollable urge to flee into his bedroom, but it wasn’t Mycroft he wanted to run from… since he wanted the man to follow. Greg had given up trying to understand the logic behind some of these emotions; since, as Mycroft had told him, they are sometimes inherently illogical. 

“Come, I need to get out of here.” Greg managed to voice, and opened his bedroom door. He waved for Mycroft to follow him.   
Greg sat on the bed. He’d caved and bought himself a fluffy oval faux-fur pillow, which he picked up and held to his chest. 

Mycroft frowned in concern. Gregory did not usually behave in such a manner, and the sight of him cuddling a cushion upon the bed was a clear indicator that something was wrong. It was so unlike the persona of Gregory he’d known over the years. But, Mycroft reminded himself, this could be what the man was like in his home life under ‘normal’ circumstances. He’d only really known the 'Detective Inspector Lestrade' persona, and was only now beginning to see that it was a façade, much like his own for work purposes, instead of who he really was.

Mycroft walked in and sat beside Greg. He then reached out and held the man in his arms as best he could whilst sitting beside him.   
“I’m sorry.” Greg muttered into the pillow. He was glad that Mycroft hadn’t said anything about the fluffy cushion he sought comfort from. He didn’t feel like explaining it right now.  
“No, I’m sorry. I need to learn to trust you. I have a terrible habit of taking total control over the things that matter to me in fear of losing them in one way or another.”   
“I’m glad that I matter enough for you to want to control me.” Greg said, a soft smile spreading over his face and he looked up at Mycroft.   
“Of course. In fact you are one of the things I care... most… for.” Mycroft said uneasily. 

Greg didn’t know what to say. His emotions may have been a pool beforehand, but now they were a stormy sea. He leaned his head against Mycroft’s chest, and then shuffled about so that he could hug around the man’s middle. He wanted to feel embarrassed, but he also couldn’t care at that moment. 

“Mycroft?” Greg asked into his cashmere jumper. Mycroft’s heart pounded with the worry of what Gregory could say next. Would it be rejecting his advances? Or perhaps worse… returning them? Mycroft didn’t know why that was worse.   
“Yes, dear?” Mycroft answered, swallowing hard at the endearment. He’d gotten away with it a few times so far, but was sure he’d be addressed about it any moment.   
  
“Why do you dye your hair?”

Mycroft let out the breath he’d been holding. He chuckled, a deep hearty chuckle. Greg’s head vibrated at the laugh. Mycroft began to softly stroke Greg’s shoulder and back.   
“Why do you ask? How did you know, anyway?”  
“I’ve seen you quite regularly this past month, and I’ve noticed it slowly going ginger and then back to dark, and fade again. I am a detective, you know. It’s not just you lot…you… that can observe things.” Greg said, sitting up to look at Mycroft. He started off having a joke, but the painful stab at his words, and the necessary correction now that Sherlock was no longer, sombred his mood. 

“It is merely personal preference whilst I am working.”  
“What does your hair colour have to do with your job?”  
“More than you know. It makes for a more serious figure. Could you imagine me attempting to threaten a terrorist cell whilst sporting bright golden locks?”

Greg laughed this time. He laughed more than he had in quite some time at the image of Mycroft with bright blonde curly locks. He inadvertently pictured Sherlock’s mass of curls atop Mycroft’s head, and then felt that sorrow tug at his heartstrings again. 

“You are hilarious, Myc. It’s a shame I’m the only one who gets to see it.”  
“I prefer to see it as you exclusively get to see it.”   
“Exclusive huh? Trying to make me feel special?” Greg teased slightly, resting his head upon Mycroft’s shoulder once again.   
“You are special my dear.” Mycroft spoke.   
“You call me that a lot now.” Greg mentioned. He didn’t want to dissuade him from using it, as he rather liked it, but want to get a bit more of an explanation/confession out of the British Government.   
“Yes, well, I allowed you to shorten my name whilst we are in private, and I found myself unable to reciprocate. I … like… that you, er, distinguish yourself from the others I know… showing your … um… closeness to me. I wished to also have a term for you that did the same.” 

Greg lifted his head off Mycroft’s shoulders and looked at him closely. Mycroft was anxious, he could tell, but he was also looking at him determinedly. He usually only did that when he really wanted to say what he’d said, and so Greg knew that it was true, and something Mycroft had been considering for some time. And that he’d been worried about its reception. Greg tentatively reached his hand up and stroked Mycroft’s cheek with his thumb.   
“You want to be closer to me?”   
“Yes.” Mycroft breathed, his whole body feeling like it was on fire. Greg’s nose was mere inches from his own, and his warm body was pressed up against his.  
“Why?” Greg asked, his brows furrowing as if he was honestly confused.

Greg had an idea where the conversation was heading, and despite having lead it there, he was now anxious. His heart was pounding. He’d just ran in to his room to escape a barrage of emotions, and yet here he was, trying to get Mycroft to confess to feeling more than friends. And the response, whatever it was, was terrifying him. He was in no state to pursue a relationship, and he felt like he’d be an unwelcome burden most of the time. Andyet he wanted it so very much. 

“Because…because, Gregory, dear…I…” Mycroft whispered, his voice breaking imperceptibly, “I have feelings for you.” 

Greg had suspected, hoped, even dreamed, that Mycroft would say those words. But once he had, Greg was left feeling panicky.   
_I can’t do this to him, can I? I’ll just bring him down. I don’t want to hurt him like that. I don’t even know if I can be happy, I can’t go further in this knowing that. But I can’t just say no to him now… that would hurt him too. What do I do? Do I go with my gut and kiss him? Do I try doing the honourable thing and tell him it’s best not to get involved with me to save him from the pain I’d inevitably cause?_

“Gregory, please breathe for me.”   


Greg’s attention snapped back to reality when he heard Mycroft’s words to him. They were stern and laced with concern. He hadn’t realised he’d started having a panic attack. Suddenly he gulped in large lungfuls of air, which seemed just as counter productive as holding his breath. He was aware of Mycroft’s hand firmly rubbing circles on his back. 

“I’m so sorry dear, I shouldn’t have said… I knew things were a bit much right now when we came in here…” Mycroft said. Greg just shook his head. 

“Gregory, please try and focus on my breathing and match it.” Mycroft said, sliding off the bed and onto his knees in front of the detective, grasping both of his shoulders firmly. He made exaggerated breaths for Greg to follow. After a few moments, Greg was calming down. Mycroft could feel his muscles still shake, but he didn’t seem to need help controlling the rhythm of his breathing. 

“Here, lie down.” Mycroft ordered gently, as he stood and pushed Greg backwards onto the bed. 

Greg didn’t object, and allowed himself to be pressed backwards. He curled up slightly. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled after a minute.   
“Don’t be. I never should have…”  
“No. I'm glad you said it. Because I do too.” Greg confessed. 

Mycroft looked at him in shock, and then broke out into a beaming smile. He so rarely smiled that whole heartedly. 

“I’m just sorry to have had a panic attack from it. I just started thinking about all the reasons why you shouldn’t be with me, and why I shouldn’t say anything; because of not being able to be happy, or even deserving taking yours, or just bringing you down, and … and…”  
“Hush, dear Gregory. All of that is just your depression talking. You are most certainly deserving of happiness, and you will not ‘bring me down’ as you say.”  
“You’re just saying that because you think you know best.”  
“I assure you, I often do know what’s best.” Mycroft said playfully. 

Greg didn’t respond, but just nodded. 

“Gregory, I am going to be here helping you through all of this with or without romantic involvement. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy… and so if you do not wish to pursue anything, I will respect that. However if you think you might enjoy it, I would very much like to take you to dinner.” 

“You’re… you’re asking me out? On a date?” 

Mycroft nodded. Greg sat back up, only to find himself sitting directly in front of the man before him. Greg could feel the electricity surging through him at the proximity of Mycroft’s face to his own, and knew in that moment that there was no way he could deny himself the chance to be something more with this amazing man. 

“I’d love to.” Greg uttered, eyes flickering downwards to Mycroft’s lips. He swallowed. He never was all that great with self control anyway. He inched closer, and could all but swear that Mycroft did the same. 

Both men jumped when a loud beeping sound erupted between them.  
“Oh dear, it seems I am quite late for work.” Mycroft said, pulling out his phone. He smiled apologetically to Gregory, stood, and left the room while answering the phone. 

Greg smiled and hung his head.   
_Typical._


	9. Some Alcohol and Conversation, Please

**\- John, I need a pint. Meet after your shift?**

**** Greg texted John not long after Mycroft had left. He knew the man was at work, and so didn't expect a response for some time. He heard his phone buzz after only a few minutes, and so reached back onto the bedside table to grab his phone where he'd left it. 

**\- Everything ok? Do you need me to come over now?**

**\- No, it's not anything terrible. Just... stuff has happened and I need to talk to you.  
**   
**\- I can be there soon, no issues.  
  
** **\- Stay at work John, I can wait. But I'll see you soon yeah? I'll meet you at your new place.**

**\- Ok, Greg. I'll be there. Call or text me earlier if you need.**

**\- Thank you.**

**** John took a moment to calm his emotions before seeing his next patient. He hoped that Greg was alright, and that he wasn't just being his usual self-sacrificial self. He ran his fingers through his hair, and contented himself that Greg was under Mycroft's supervision and so couldn't harm himself. He called for the next person on his list, glad that at least he had a full schedule to keep him busy until his shift was over. 

Greg wasn't sure what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He was pining for a drink. He could hear Mycroft's minion walking about in the hall, and it wasn't calming his nerves.   
_Oh god, I almost kissed him. And he wanted it, too._

He felt like he was too old to be fussing about such matters. He was almost fifty now; hardly a teenager, and so he shouldn't have to deal with these things now...right? But... he wanted to. He _wanted_ to try how things went with Mycroft. He'd been looking from the sidelines for some time now, and it was starting to dawn on him just how much he'd 'noticed' Mycroft over the years. He'd unconsciously squashed down any of those kinds of thoughts with the dominating idea that nothing could happen, and their association ended with Sherlock's care. He'd certainly been upset when he felt like Mycroft didn't intend to remain in contact with him once Sherlock was gone and John moved on. His mind reeled at the realisation of _why_ it had been so painful. 

Picking up the fluffy pillow, Greg shoved it into his face and groaned loudly. The sound was muffled enough not to arouse suspicion from his 'guard'.   
_Focus._

"Alright. So... I'll not think about the stuff with Mycroft. Ok, I can do that. I'll just get all stuck rolling around in my head. I'll just wait to chat with John." 

Greg was suddenly rather aware of the emptiness of the room. He would often talk to himself back in his place, and then be a bit down that there was no one there to listen. He didn't want to talk to the man or woman out in the hall... it wasn't the same. 

"Job. Yes, job. Mycroft initially talked about going back to work." Greg spoke to himself. He wasn't really all that thrilled that Anderson seemed to be the point of contact for Mycroft at the Yard, but he wasn't as upset with him as before. Not now that he was rather affected by all the events... he couldn't be sure, but it seemed like he was remorseful. And since Greg had forgiven Mycroft for his involvement, and John for his actions... it wasn't too much to far a leap to forgive Anderson as well. Sally... well, Sally was another matter for the time being. 

Clearing Sherlock's name was something he'd really like to do. The paperwork wouldn't be fun, and hopefully he'd still be able to go out on other cases for a bit of a break. He just... was feeling rather overwhelmed at how to do that. How to even start. He hadn't really kept track of which cases Sherlock had been involved in - it wasn't like he'd kept track over the years. He didn't put it directly in his reports. He did always check his own evidence in the end, but the hints and deductions from the late detective had always lead him down the right path. Occasionally he'd just get a passing comment out of the genius; other times Sherlock was out in the dirt and rain on the scene, taking evidence for himself.   
_God, this is going to be a massive undertaking._

Greg took a deep breath.   
_It's for Sherlock.  
_ He repeated it to himself over and over. Sherlock deserved to be remembered as the genius he was, not a fraud. He found a determination rise inside his chest, and he grasped it tightly.   
_I should have done that before trying to end my life. He deserved… (deserves?) it. Even if things don’t work out, and the thing with Mycroft ends horribly, at least I could die with pride if I managed to do that._

_~_

“Greg? What’s up? Are you ok?” 

John asked as he arrived home to find Greg waiting for him outside the door. John hadn’t been able to completely get the worry out of his mind, and he was determined to be there for his friend this time. He hoped he wasn’t making a bigger deal about this than Greg intended just so that he could feel like he was doing something. But it was true: John desperately needed to feel like he was helping. It seemed to be the only way to assuage the guilt that had taken up residence in his chest. 

It was surprising that Sherlock’s suicide had caused his entire world to fall apart, and Greg’s attempted suicide had somehow managed to put the pieces back together - not completely, but enough. Not that he’d ever be grateful or pleased that Greg had been brought to that point, but it had given him a rather sudden perspective shift and a purpose. And if there was one thing he needed… it was a purpose. Mycroft, or perhaps it was his therapist, had once told him that he only saw value in himself when he was helping others. John couldn’t deny it; it was the reason he’d become a doctor, and the reason he’d joined the army. To have that sense of purpose in his life by giving up himself to save others. 

He didn’t see the problem with it normally, and he didn’t see any issues with it now. Greg needed his help, and he was better for giving it. Going back to work had been beneficial as well. It had given his days structure, his mind distraction, and his soul purpose. And the days off in between the days on gave him time to keep his own stress levels in check, as well as fulfil his need to be with his friend. All in all, things were improving for John. And even if he felt guilty about it sometimes, both for feeling ok after Sherlock and for doing better while Greg was in a darker place, he was relieved that things were looking up and as if life could return to some form of normal. 

“Yeah, I’m alright I guess, just some… stuff… I need to talk out.”   
“Sure. Are you sure you want to go out to the pub for that instead of just staying in?”  
“Actually I really just want to be … out… somewhere for a while. And to have some alcohol in me.”

John nodded, frowning slightly at the last part of Greg’s sentence. He invited him in and offered a drink whilst he got changed. Greg declined and just sat on the couch. John’s new place was nice. Even though he’d been living there for over a month now, it was still the first time Greg had seen it. It was light filled, and while not overly cosy, it still looked homely. There was a lot of modern styling in the build and the furniture that resided in it. Greg honestly wasn’t much of one for the modern sleek look. He didn’t know if that made him old fashioned, but he liked things to be a bit more… soft. Neutral tones, textures… Greg shook his head to break out of the tangent. 

“The usual place?” John asked, appearing back into the living room in his casual attire… woollen jumper included.   
“Yeah, that’d be great.”


	10. Heart to Heart

Before long, they both were in the car that had been waiting nearby. Apparently, Mycroft’s driver was instructed to not leave Greg’s general area. Initially Greg had been annoyed, but soon realised that he suddenly had possession of a chauffeur. 

“Nice of Mycroft to let you take one of his cars about the place.”  
“Yeah… yeah it is.” Greg responded somewhat absent-mindedly. 

John asked Greg what he’d like once they made it to the pub. Greg had responded with ‘anything, beer’, and so John ordered two pints of the tap beer they both enjoyed. He carried them carefully over to the table Greg chose - it was in the back, away from the crowds. He slid the glass over to Greg, who thanked him, and then sat opposite him in the booth. 

“So, what’s up?” John asked, trying to sound more cheery than worried.   
“I almost kissed Mycroft.” Greg mumbled into his beer. 

John grinned.  
“That’s good, though, right? Why didn’t you?”  
“His phone rang.”  
“Hahaha… cock blocked by Anthea. Classic.” John sniggered and gulped his pint.   
“I wasn’t going to … oh never mind, you just mean it as an expression.” Greg said, drinking some himself. His demeanour wasn’t lost on John. 

“I don’t understand why it’s gotten you down, Greg.”  
“Because… because I’m left with this awful choice.”   
John raised his eyebrow as he took another gulp, inviting Greg to continue. He sighed, and continued in a hushed tone. 

“Look… he said he has feeling for me. I said I did for him. But it didn’t all go down great. I’d just escaped having a conversation with him out in the hall about being watched over all day. I was a bit overwhelmed by it all. He followed me into my bedroom, like I asked, and started talking much calmer than before. God I wish I could just get a hold of myself like I used to. But anyway he starts talking, and I grab him around the middle … and he said he has feelings for me. But I didn’t just respond… no… bloody had to have a panic attack didn’t I? Somehow that didn’t matter to him, and after I said that yeah I had feelings for him… which was when we almost kissed.”

Greg took a large swig of his drink.   
“Ok, well that’s not as bad as it could have been.”  
“That’s not the problem, John.”  
“What’s the problem?”  
“... what do I do now?”  
“You think he’ll take it back? I don’t think he would…”  
“I don’t know what I _should_ do, John. I know I _want_ to pursue things with him, god, I would want that so much… but obviously I’m not in much of a place for that kind of thing.”

John tiled his head questioningly, and Greg couldn’t help associate it with a dog. He smiled at the thought. 

“Well… I’m… you know.”  
“… Bi? Wouldn’t that mean…”  
“No… I mean yeah, but what I meant is… this. Broken. I’d not be able to give him any happiness like this… not when I don’t even know if I CAN be happy myself…”  
“Greg… I don’t want to tell you what to do. But as your mate, I feel like I can give you some advice.”

Greg nodded, fully expecting to be told to leave Mycroft alone. He breathed deep and finished off the last of his drink. 

“Go for it mate.”  
“What?”  
“Mycroft’s fully capable of handling a bit of complication, and of knowing what he wants being aware of what that means. He knows things are going to be rough for you for a while, and if he’s said he wants to try a relationship with you, then he’s done it knowing what it’s going to entail. That it’ll be hard sometimes. But I have to stress, Greg… it’s not your responsibility to protect him from hurt he might feel in the future, even if it’s from things related to depression.”  


Greg was silent for a moment, and then started pushing his glass from side to side between his hands. 

“But I couldn’t do that to him.”  
“For all you know, he’ll be much happier. I know you would be, from what you’ve said. Do you feel like you aren’t allowed to try being happy?”  
“What? That’s crazy…”  
“Yes, it is, but it might be true.”  
“Yeah, alright…I find it hard to believe I deserve to be happy having Mycroft as mine when I’ll no doubt cause him pain.”  
“No. You can’t think like that. If you do, then you’ll just make both of you miserable.”  
“See? That’s why I have to not…”  
  
“Greg, stop. It sounds to me that you’re making up excuses to rationalise your fears. I’m going to be honest with you. I believe you and Mycroft could do wonders for each other. You need a sense of belonging and purpose, and to not be alone. And Mycroft needs to feel trusted and loved… and also not alone. And I am worried that you’re afraid to see where things go because you’re afraid of getting attached to something in life, to make it much harder to just leave it.”

John spoke with determination in his voice, and while he was complimenting him to begin with, ended up speaking with honest concern. Greg mentally rolled his eyes - sometimes John couldn’t stop being a doctor. But… he couldn’t deny anything that he said. Greg hadn’t really thought of it in that sense, but hearing it made him realise that it was in a way true. Committing to Mycroft in a romantic sense would effectively cut off his escape route from life, and it was a bit scary. 

“I think I need another.” Greg said, and left the table. John sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. He’s always known Greg as appearing chronically unhappy, but just thought that was his way. Looking back over the time he’d known him, it was rather obvious that Greg had depression but was just suppressing it to get on with life. Knowing that, he didn’t really know how to convince him that he did actually deserve a shot at happiness. He grumbled to himself. This was all a lot harder than it needed to be. 

Greg returned with another two glasses. He slid the second one over to John and threw himself into the seat. He put his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. He groaned. 

“I’m sorry for all this shit.” Greg said through his fingers.   
“Don’t be sorry. How about instead just don’t make it an issue.” John shrugged.   
“Yeah, I’ll get on that.” Greg responded sarcastically, and downed a large mouthful of beer. 

“I’m serious, Greg. All of this is just in your head. What matters is what you and Mycroft want. Hell, I feel like Mycroft should be sitting here with us so I can get you both to confess your feelings for each other and agree to give it a shot.”  
“He wouldn’t like that…”  
“Ha, don’t have to tell me. Mycroft never likes being told anything. Unless it’s from you, it seems. Anyway, I just meant … you just have to let go of your hang ups and see that all that matters is being happy in the end. And this is a means to get there. I know you haven’t had a whole lot of that lately, but this could be a way to change that, yeah?”  
“Mycroft wouldn’t want someone like me.”  
“Don’t you think that should be up to him?”  
“Well…”

Greg went silent, unable to think of a rebuttal.   
“He asked me to dinner.”  
“So… go?” John said, unable to understand Greg’s hesitation.   
“But what if I do go and later realise that I can’t do it?”  
“Then tell him? Greg, agreeing to go on a date isn’t committing your life to being with him. You’re allowed to tell him if it’s not working out… like you would with anyone else…ah. Right.” 

John had a moment of realisation when he was talking. Greg actually hadn’t done anything like that in a long time, or possibly ever. He’d committed himself to his awful cheating wife… no doubt there were plenty of warning signs, transgressions made by her, even before marriage… but Greg had remained loyal. Maybe there was a bigger problem at play than John had thought. 

“Greg… you… you know you’re allowed to give it a shot and end it if it’s not working out, right?”  
“I… I mean, it’s hard…”  
“Saying yes to dinner doesn’t mean you’re going to end up like you did with…her.”   
“I can’t help but worry, John…”

“Trust me, Mycroft’s not like your ex wife. And he is an adult, capable of handling the end of a relationship… probably… I don’t know a whole lot about his personal life. But that’s not helping. The point is… just see how it goes, and you’re not locked in for life. If you find you’re happy, you stay…if not, then talk to him. You can work something out.” 

Greg was silent and sullen. He had just nodded through most of John’s little speech. It seemed that there were a few deeper reasons to his anxieties than he’d initially realised. _John was right, wasn’t he? I could always just say to Mycroft it wasn’t working out. Mycroft would be understanding… he said he’d be there to help relationship or not, so he wouldn’t just abandon me right? But what if I hurt him when it wasn’t working out?_

“Greg?”

_No, no it’ll be ok. I shouldn’t hide in this pit of darkness in fear of ending up back in it… I should take the chance for an escape._

“Greg?”

_Yes. I’ll try. Yes. I wish it was easier than this. But like John said… I just have to talk to Mycroft. He’s very understanding, or smart at least… he should be able to understand._

“Greg!” 

Greg snapped out of his reverie and looked at John’s worried face.   
“Huh?”  
“You spaced out on me. You alright?”   
“Yeah… just thinking.”  
“About?”  
“That you’re bloody right.” Greg said with a grin. 

The worry left John’s face and he finished off his first pint. Greg ran his hand behind his neck and rubbed it forcefully while sighing.   
“I’ll just need to talk to Mycroft about all this. I think being open about everything is best.”  
“Yeah. It usually is.” 

They drank more in relative silence. Greg could see that there was something more John wanted to talk about, but didn’t press it. He just waited. Eventually, John sank a little.   
“Greg I have to ask."  
“Hm?”  
“I mentioned before that I thought part of your anxiety was fear of being attached to life. You never denied it. I’m concerned that you still think of suicide.” 

Greg stiffened slightly.  
_What do I even say to that? The truth would cause more worry, but lying might make him worry more if he knew I was lying…_

“I… I’ll be honest. Yes, I do still think about it.”  
“I mean that’s understandable, given that it’s only been a month…”  
“Yeah.”  
“Yeah.” John agreed, nodding. He swallowed and continued.   
“Greg I need to ask how often you think about it, and if you have any plans.”   
“Why?”  
“Because I’m your mate, and a doctor.”

“I don’t have any plans, ok? I just can’t help the idea hovering around my mind. It’s almost like an intruder into my thoughts. Sometimes when the emotions drag me particularly down, I think about it… more like, sadly wishing I had died, not so much thinking that I should go out and try again.”

John nodded solemnly. 

“Thank you for being honest. It’s not particularly good, but it’s good to know you’re not planning anything. I … I know you’ve said that you’ll come to either me or Mycroft if you are feeling unsafe, but I just want to remind you that you can contact me at any time, for anything… not just what you’d consider an ‘emergency’. Cause I know you, you’d wait until you were staring down the barrel again before calling.” 

Greg nodded softly as he drank more. Thank god for the alcohol. Things went from deep to intensely deep very quickly. 

“And so yeah, do call me when you’ve gone out with him. Or we can meet up. I just wanna be there for you and it sounds like it’d gonna be a bit emotionally taxing.”  
“Thanks mate.” Greg said. It might have been a bit overkill on the support, but it seemed to help John as well so Greg just accepted it. 

“Now that all that’s outta the way, I have got to tell you what happened on the way to work today…” John said, shifting the topic and the mood.   
Greg sat and listened to the tale, laughing at the funny parts, and genuinely enjoying talking about something light for a while.


	11. Mycroft's Point of View

_9:16 pm:_

Mycroft stood there in shock. He couldn’t believe it… he’d argued with himself the entire way there that he was just being irrational, that he was being paranoid and overly anxious. That nothing was going on. But there it was, the evidence right before his eyes. John was kneeling shirtless over Gregory, who was laying on the couch, and was undoing the buttons of Gregory’s shirt. Mycroft could only make a strangled noise as the two men looked up at him, and then fled out of the door. 

_8:58 pm:_

He nervously tapped his phone on the table. Gregory had been gone for a long time, and neither he nor John were answering his calls. His driver had responded, and told him that he’d taken Gregory to John’s place at around 5pm, and then to a pub. As far as he knew, they were both still in there. 

Mycroft worried. Even though he knew Gregory and John liked to get together every once and a while for a drink, it was an awful long time to be out drinking. That made it seem like they were trying to drink away some kind of problem. Mycroft felt like the problem was him. He’d gone too far with Gregory. Part of his mind said that he was overthinking it and catastrophising, because Gregory had reciprocated each time. But the anxious part of his mind, the one that always planned out the worst possible scenarios to everything and convinced him that they were all going to happen, told him that he was the problem they were trying to escape. 

He wanted to go and check up on them. John had been going along fairly well so far, but he knew that it was a slippery slope which could throw him back down into the despair. But he felt confident enough that John was ok. He was resilient thus far. Mycroft’s heart strained at thinking that Gregory was not ok. And he felt guilty that it was his dinner invitation that caused the turmoil. He wanted to know what was happening. He could understand so much, knew so much - not knowing anything that mattered to him made him incredibly uneasy. 

Mycroft tried to take deep breaths as his leg jerked rapidly beneath him. He could go to the pub? The idea would normally have ground against him like sand in a clock, but if it meant he could satiate the desperate need to know what was going on, and know that his Gregory was ok, he would do it. He cleared his throat uncomfortably when addressing Gregory as ‘his’. The detective wasn’t ‘his’, at least not yet. And even if that was what Mycroft wanted, and had allowed himself to feel for once in his life, he was still hesitant. Loving another was invitation to be hurt beyond measure, much as his experience as a young teenager.   
_Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft._

Mycroft tried to force himself not to care so much. It felt so … dangerous. Much like a turtle who had spent its entire life living inside its shell only to try and see the light … the potential to be warm and happy in the sunshine was worth trying, but he could easily have his tender head chopped off. 

Mycroft’s phone buzzed, and he saw that the driver had messaged him. He opened it and read the message.

**\- G and J request to be taken back to J’s home. En route.**

**** Mycroft knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He texted a response.

**\- How are they?**

**\- G is likely drunk, J may also be. They seem to have had a good night, they can’t take their hands off each other.**

**** Mycroft paled when he read the message. Gregory and John? No, surely not… John had proclaimed he wasn’t gay enough when around Sherlock. Even though Mycroft suspected John to be rather repressed when it came to liking men as well, he knew that John did at least seem to behave somewhat ‘interested’ around Sherlock. Whether or not he realised it, or what it actually meant to him, didn’t seem to matter. But with alcohol in the mix, perhaps those inhibitions were loosened?

But John’s sexuality aside… he thought he and Gregory were bonding? Mycroft felt stabbed to the chest. He’d put himself out there thinking it was reciprocated… but now it was seeming like it wasn’t. Did he just misread it all?  
 _No, no I couldn’t… Gregory said he had feelings for me. I couldn’t have misread that. This has to be just a misunderstanding. Or playful drunken antics that don’t mean anything. No, they aren’t about to sleep with each other. I have to get more information before I conclude Gregory’s intentions._

Mycroft stood suddenly and called for a car. He was going over to sort it out. He noticed that his muscles were shaking slightly, causing his hands to tremor. He slipped them inside of his pockets to avoid alerting his driver that anything was getting to him. 

The car arrived promptly, and Mycroft got in. He gave the address, and was left sitting in the back seat attempting to not picture obscene images involving his friends.   
_No, it’s ridiculous. It’s just my anxieties. Greg probably just had too much to drink and so John was helping him stay standing. Yes, that’s it. And John’s place was closer, so they were likely just going to drop John off first. I’ll get there and John will be confused why I’m even there. Oh well, that can be explained easily enough._

Mycroft rationalised to himself for the whole trip. He was a whole lot calmer by the time he arrived at John’s place. The other car was still there, however, and so another wave of anxiety flowed over him.   
_Greg could be just getting a drink of water, or a snack or something before coming home. No need to panic._

The British Government had no issue letting himself into John’s home unannounced. He’d done it multiple times while he was living with Sherlock, and so it shouldn’t be a surprise to the doctor anymore. Even in the past, it was Sherlock who had taken offence to the action. John had been complacent about the matter entirely. After the first time, at least. 

He walked into the living area and that’s where he froze. All of his rationalising he’d done on the way over went out the window. He couldn’t … no, he could, he just didn’t want to… believe his eyes. He felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of his chest.   
_No, it couldn’t be…_

When they both looked up at him, he just had to get out of there. He didn’t want to hear their excuses or their likely angry shouting. He didn’t want to be anywhere near John’s house. He actually ran out of the house and to his car. Once he threw himself back into the back seat, he breathed. He gasped for air, unable to control himself.   
_John and Gregory._

Mycroft felt himself getting lightheaded as he continued to breathe in as much air as possible to counter the feeling like he was suffocating. 

“Sir? Are you alright?” The driver asked cautiously.   
“Take me home.” Mycroft spat back while exhaling. “And tell the other driver to follow.”

The driver at least had enough sense to not question anything further and did was he was told. Immediately after, both cars took off and headed back to Mycroft’s work place.

Upon arrival, Mycroft rushed down the hall, purposefully not looking at Gregory’s room, and bolted himself in his bedroom. He curled up under the covers, feeling like his insides were being torn form out of his body. He felt himself start to cry and he started hating himself for ever letting himself be open to this kind of hurt again. 


	12. Greg and John's Point of View

_8:49 pm_

Greg stumbled as he returned from the bathroom. He knew he was rather drunk, but he was enjoying the buzz from sharing it with his friend. John hadn’t drunk as much, but he rationalised that John had work in the morning. 

They’d been at the pub for a while, but they’d at least ordered dinner while they were there. Greg was having a good time, if he was honest with himself. The night had started out a bit rocky with the intense conversations about liking Mycroft and suicide, but after some sports talk and funny stories, everything seemed fun. Greg took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Yes, it was a good night. 

He had almost approached the table where John was sitting, when suddenly he was shoved from behind into the edge of the bar. He shouted out a strangled cry as searing pain spread out from his chest.   
“Hey, sorry bro.” A voice said from behind him. He looked to see an apologetic young bloke, who had apparently tripped and fallen into Greg’s back.  
“’s Alright.” Greg winced through gritted teeth. 

_Why did this hurt so much? Oh… right… the bullet wound. That explains that._

Greg inhaled deeply to fight off the pain, but soon regretted the decision. He clung against his chest as he stumbled over to where John was. The doctor hadn’t seen what had happened. He’d been staring at the football match playing on the screen. Greg felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but ignored it. He just wanted to sit down. He’d call whoever it was back later. 

Greg painfully lowered himself down into the seat across from John.   
“Hey mate, Arsenal’s kicking arse right now…” John said, eyes still glued to the screen.  
“Gr…great.” Greg said, his breath hitching. 

John immediately broke away from the match and looked at Greg upon hearing the signs of distress. Greg was bent over slightly, and had his arm wrapped around his chest. He had sweat on his forehead and his brows were furrowed in pain. 

“What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing…” Greg said, knowing full well that John knew otherwise.  
“Seriously Greg.”   
“Some guy fell on me and shoved me into the bar. The wood stabbed me in the chest.” Greg’s words were slurred, but he was still coherent enough to make sense.  
“Are you alright?”  
“Should be fine, I’m just a bit tender there still.” Greg responded immediately, trying to calm the doctor.  
“Well of course you are, you’re still healing. Here, maybe I should look…”  
“Nah, it’s right.” Greg assured him, trying to sit up straight. He released his grip around himself, and went to grab his glass. He downed the last mouthful.   
  
“Greg, I really need to have a look.” John insisted, and Greg wondered why he was so demanding.  
“Why? Hey, aren’t you gonna answer your phone?” Greg said, and pointed to the doctor’s phone that rang.  
“No, you’re bleeding.” John responded, getting up to sit with Greg on his side of the table all the while ignoring his phone. 

John pulled Greg’s coat aside to get a better look at the shirt, were a small pool of blood was showing. He went to undo the buttons of the shirt, but Greg shoved his hands away.   
“Not here mate!” Greg shouted, waving his hand to the general crowd around the bar. John shot him a look, but nodded.  
“Fine, I’ll inspect it at my place. Come on.” John said in his military tone. Greg picked up on it, and complied. 

John grabbed his phone, and then waited for the detective to stand. John could see he was having some trouble. Greg managed to get to his feet, and then started to sway. John reacted quickly and caught him.   
“‘M fine…” Greg muttered, trying to bat John away.  
“Just let me help you god damn it.” John spoke sternly. 

They walked out to the car and got in, John helping Greg get in and slide across before joining him. John asked the driver to be taken home. He looked down at his friend with concern; the blood patch was significantly larger than before. He reached out and pressed against the wound. 

“Arg, John…that hurts.”  
“It’s bleeding a lot, Greg, I think it’s best to keep pressure on it." John responded, knowing that Greg wouldn’t be able to keep holding down on the wound. 

The car left the parking space.  
“Not long and we’ll be back at my place.”

Five or so minutes later, John was helping Greg out of the car. He still had his hand on Greg’s chest - perhaps a little unnecessarily, but it brought back memories of Greg’s attempted suicide and he couldn’t bring himself to let the pressure off the wound. Greg was grabbing onto John a lot more than before. 

“John… I don’t…feel…” Greg started to say, before promptly vomiting all over John.   
John made a retching sound, but then composed himself. He’d experienced worse, after all.  
“Come on, not far to go.” Was all John could say now that he was covered in regurgitated chips and beer. 

He managed to get Greg into the house, and laid him down on the couch. He was suddenly concerned that the vomiting wasn’t because of alcohol, since Greg had gone extremely pale.  
“I’ll go get my bag.” John said before leaving to his bedroom. He quickly stripped himself of his soiled shirt, picked up his med kit, and returned to the living room without wasting time finding another top to wear. 

The first thing John thought as he returned to the living room was that Greg had passed out. But he heard a gentle groan as he approached, debunking that theory. He turned on the lamp beside the couch, and knelt on the ground in front of his friend. There was an alarming amount of blood soaking Greg’s shirt. He focused on trying to unbutton the garment as quickly as he could without causing anymore damage, Greg looking at him somewhat unfocused. 

Suddenly they were aware that someone else was there. They heard a gasp, and John jumped. He turned to see Mycroft standing there, looking absolutely stunned. Greg didn’t seem to know what was going on, but that Mycroft shouldn’t be there at least. Mycroft made a strange noise, and ran out of the room. He actually ran. 

“Arg, fuck.” John uttered. He didn’t have time to chase after Mycroft. He finished pulling back the soaked cloth from Greg’s chest and saw that the bullet wound had been torn open again. It had apparently closed up well, but not strongly, and now was a gaping hole in Greg’s chest.  
“Fuck.” John uttered a second time, trying not to worry Greg. 

He grabbed some gauze and pressed it down over the wound that had started to bleed down Greg’s chest. He got his stethoscope and held it near the wound, listening to Greg’s breathing. To his dismay, he heard a bubbling rattle every time his friend drew breath. 

“Ok, Greg, listen to me. You’re going to be ok. But, I'm going to have to call an ambulance ok?”  
Greg was still deathly pale, and not really with it. He nodded. John hoped that it was just dissociation from the alcohol, but knew that it was more than likely shock from the pain and blood loss. 

He picked up his phone, noting that he had a missed call from Mycroft. That’s when he remembered that Mycroft’s driver was still there to take Greg home. 

“Greg, I need you to press down here, alright? I won’t be long.” John commanded, moving Greg’s hand to rest over the wound. He wasn’t really convinced that Greg would do it, but the weight of the hand should be enough. 

John ran into his room, grabbed a random jumper from the dresser closest, and left the house. He meant to ask the driver to give him a hand getting Greg into the car, and to tell him to go to the closest hospital - he assumed it was St Bart’s - but to his surprise, there was no car waiting for him. 

“Arg, damn you Mycroft!” John shouted to the empty street. He pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance. He wasn’t going to bother telling Mycroft what was going on now… he knew it was irrational, and spiteful, but he didn’t care. 

The ambulance arrived and took them both to St Bart’s. John spoke with the paramedics on the way about his observations and ideas for treatment. The woman just nodded to him. She asked that he remain in the waiting room once they arrived. John just rolled his eyes. 

For the third time in far too little time, John found himself sitting in the waiting room of St Bart’s. At least this time he didn’t have a shock blanket. John chuckled once to himself at the thought that at least the survival rate was going up. First Sherlock, dying, and then Greg, almost dying, and now Greg just needing to be patched up, only a slim chance of dying. John swallowed at the thought. He didn’t want to think about it, and it likely would all be fine, but he knew there could aways be complications. He tried to push them from his head. 

He looked at his phone and sighed. He really should call Mycroft. The man might have been presumptuous, and a bit spiteful in taking the car, but he still deserved to know what was happening. John wasn’t sure why he’d broken into his house, but he had at least attempted to contact him before he did it. It was only once Greg had been admitted for treatment that John cast his mind back and realised why Mycroft reacted the way he did. At the time John had too much to think about to consider _why_ , but now he understood how it must have looked. Him and Greg, out drinking, going back to his place, him half naked and undressing Greg on the couch. He probably was blocking the view to Greg’s wound, or Mycroft was too stunned to observe the blood. 

He pressed to return Mycroft’s call, but the phone rang out. He tried again, but the same thing happened. John sighed and hung his head. 

“Well, this all turned out great, didn’t it?” he said sarcastically to the empty room. 


	13. The Hospital Visit

Mycroft stirred under the covers. He sat up and groaned, and then let out an exasperated cry when he saw he’d slept in his suit - which was now all crumpled. And then he remembered _why_ he’d done so.  
_Gregory._

Gregory had spent the night at John’s doing unspeakable things. He felt his lip quiver at the thought.  
_But we were going to have dinner…_

He tried not to cry, but a few tears fell. He didn’t feel angry at either of them, but he did hate himself. Surely his hesitation and slowness were why Gregory felt the need to be with John the previous night. Mycroft’s mind swirled with negative self thoughts, all of which outlined reasons why his Gregory was no longer his. He knew that he couldn’t handle a ‘shared’ relationship… he felt far too insecure. He’d never be happy in a situation like that. He didn’t deny it might work for some people, polyamory, but not for him - even if he did like John, which he didn’t. He wanted Gregory for himself. He felt like an idiot thinking that someone so kind and gentle would be drawn to someone such as himself. 

Mycroft walked out into the kitchen and grabbed out some juice. He drank it at the bench like he used to do. He tried to push the emotions away… there was no way he could walk into work in such a state. But it felt too soul crushing to try bury his affections for Gregory. Love, even. If there was one thing Mycroft Holmes was terrible at, it was his own emotions. He only got the courage to do something about his feelings for Gregory after a suicide attempt, and only realised that he did truly love the man once he’d left and found someone else. 

He couldn’t work out exactly what had happened in the past 24 hours that had caused such a shift. It was probably mostly alcohol, but that didn’t explain everything. Gregory would have had to have had feelings for John first in order to act on them… right? Mycroft shook his head. Sometimes he knew he had to just let it go, because he wasn’t going to understand that part of human behaviour. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. 

_Shit.  
_ Four missed calls from John, and another six text messages. Nothing from Gregory, he noted. He must have been really escaping reality last night to have not even noticed his phone going off. He opened the phone and read the messages. 

**\- Mycroft, answer your phone.  
** **\- Seriously Mycroft, we need to talk.  
** **\- Alright, fine. Don’t answer. It’s not what you think, by the way.  
** **\- I don’t want to explain this over text Mycroft!  
** **\- Anthea, if you’re screening his messages, you need to let me talk to him. It’s a misunderstanding.  
** **\- I give up. Don’t talk to me. At least talk to Greg, but in the morning. He’s in St Bart’s.**

**** Mycroft paled at reading the last of the messages.  
_What? The hospital? God, did he try again? What have I done?_

The British Government almost dropped his phone with the sudden shock. He fumbled and managed to catch it before it hit the ground. His heart was pounding and he felt like he couldn’t breathe… he knew he was starting to have a panic attack, but he couldn’t bring himself to force himself out of it. He felt like he deserved to suffer that little. 

He brought the phone up closer to his face and texted Anthea.  
  
**\- Need a car and Gregory’s room number at St Bart’s. Now. MH**

**** He didn’t have to wait long before there was a response. He was glad that Anthea was so efficient, and didn’t ask annoying questions like: why is he in the hospital? Mycroft didn’t bother changing attire as he walked out of the kitchen towards the front door. What did it matter if he looked crumpled? It was an adequate description. 

He tried to look as intimidating as he could when he walked into the hospital and attempted to walk straight to the room. A nurse stopped him and informed him he’d have to wait until visiting hours. Mycroft gave her one of his most intense glares that he reserved for special occasions. He succeeded in scaring her, but she remained vigilant in preventing him from seeing Gregory. 

“I’m s-s-sorry Sir, but you c-can’t see him.” She managed to say, and guarded herself behind the desk. 

Mycroft took a deep breath. He’d ordinarily be impressed with her dedication to patient safety, and then organise to go over her head. But he was feeling very emotional and unstable, and was seriously tempted to shout at her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, and made a call. He stood there staring intently as he waited for approval to filter down. Within minutes, a doctor came up to her and gave her the green light for him to enter. Mycroft was too distracted to even feel that usual satisfaction from seeing her face emblazoned with ‘who ARE you?’. 

He was quickly down the hall and staring at the room number. Gregory was on the other side of the door. But Mycroft had frozen. He was honestly scared about what he’d find on the other side of the door. He knew that Gregory was relatively unharmed, since he wasn’t in the ICU, but that didn’t mean he was ok. Or that he’d welcome his presence. Mycroft steeled himself and opened the door as he did when walking into bleak negotiations. 

Greg had been woken up half an hour previously to have his vitals checked by the nurse. He’d initially woken up confused as to why he was in the hospital, and with quite the headache. Then the events of the pub, and John’s place, came back into his mind… albeit, still all foggy. He knew he’d been drinking, he’d been shoved into the bar and it had hurt him… John pressing against his wound… vomiting on John… something about Mycroft… and then vague images of the inside of an ambulance.  
_I should really thank and apologise to John soon._

The door opened, and in walked Mycroft. Greg smiled at him, but then his face dropped upon seeing the state he was in. He was all ruffled up, with a crinkled suit that looked like he’d slept in, and hair uncombed. His movements were tense and his face looked strained. What happened?

“Hey, Myc.” Greg said airily as the man walked into the room and sat on the chair beside his bed. He didn’t respond, but put his face in his hands.  
_What the hell is going on? Did he think I was dying or something?_

“I’m fine, Myc, really… all patched up again.”  
“Gregory…” Mycroft breathed, his voice raspy.  
“What’s gotten into you?”  
“I… it’s… it’s been a rough day.”  
“It’s only 8:30…” Greg said, confused. “Have you slept at all?”  
“Yes. And that is why I am only here now. I’m so sorry.”

Greg wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, and so let it go.   
“Hey, no worries. I apparently was sedated last night anyway, so you wouldn’t have had much reason to be around before now.”  
Greg tried to smile, tried to lighten the mood, but it was difficult. His mind was so eager to pick up on negativity and bring him down, it was a significant battle to continue being positive. 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened? If you can.” Greg asked.  
“I could say the same to you. I am, in fact. What happened Gregory? I thought… we… I don’t know what to think anymore.”   
“What? Ok, I’m really confused. You sound like you’re talking about two different things. I can’t really remember much about last night… I was pretty drunk when this happened, and shock took care of the rest of the awareness.”  
“What happened exactly?” Mycroft asked, trying to take it one step at a time. 

“Um… well, after we … talked, and you left, I messaged John to meet up at the pub. We chatted a bit and then started drinking a bit more… too much for me, as usual. I can’t seem to help myself. Anyway, I remember walking back from the loo and a guy tripping over behind me. I fell into the sharp wood part of the bar, right on the bullet wound. I didn’t think it was that bad, but John seemed worried. Then things start to get even more hazy… John helps me to the car, he’s putting pressure on the wound… and I chucked up on him, poor bastard. Then … I don’t know, I was in his living room I think and you were there or something, and then I just remember seeing inside the ambulance.” Greg said, looking at the far wall while triyng to piece together the memories. 

“Hey, that brings up a good point. If you were there, why do you need me to explain what happened?” Greg asked him directly. 

Mycroft felt sick. He’d assumed Gregory was off having sexual adventures with his friend, and missed all the obvious signs that it wasn’t in fact the case. If he’d paid attention, he’d probably have seen the blood on Gregory, and known it wasn’t the start of amorous activities. But no, what did he do? Take one look, assume, and run. 

“I’m an idiot, Gregory.” Mycroft said slowly.   
“What? Pass me my phone and say that again, I need to record that…” Greg laughed. He winced afterwards, and promptly stopped.   
“I am so very sorry for my behaviour.”  
“What behaviour? I told you, all I remember was that flash of you standing there.”  
“That’s all I did, regrettably. I couldn’t contact either of you, and got worried. I then feared the worst: that you were engaging in… sexual behaviour with John. I walked in to the room, saw John topless and undoing your shirt, and I ran.” 

Greg blinked for a few moments. And then he had the overwhelming urge to laugh again… but tried to contain himself.  
“Oh, Myc… I know how it must have looked, but I told you… I like you. And only you. And I would still very much like to have dinner with you.” Greg said, grinning. He enjoyed feeling like Mycroft Holmes was human, making mistakes and getting jealous of him. He knew it wasn’t really good, but he enjoyed it none the less. In a way, it made Mycroft’s feelings for him feel more… real. Not just something that was done to appease him. 

Mycroft couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He walked into the room expecting to have his heart ripped out, and yet… he was receiving even more confirmation of Gregory (still) being _his_ Gregory. He’d never been so glad to have been wrong. He felt wetness on his face. 

“Oh, Myc, what’s wrong?” Greg asked, noticing the tears.  
“You… you’re too good to me.” Mycroft sniffled. Greg was shocked at witnessing Mycroft cry.  
“No, I’m just a normal average bloke treating you how you should be treated.”  
“You are anything but, my dear.” Mycroft said warmly, with a smile, amongst the tears.

Greg wanted to hold him. He wanted to tell him it was all ok, and that everything he tortured himself with the past night wasn’t real. Because Greg knew that he would have tortured himself. That just seemed to be what he did. 

“Come here… gently.” Greg said, opening his arms out for Mycroft to be held. 

Mycroft took a deep breath. The tears stopped falling, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He stood and walked into Gregory’s embrace, but instead of holding him, he gently cupped his face and pressed his lips upon the detective’s. 

Greg was a little taken aback at the kiss, but his heart leapt at feeling the tender warmth of Mycroft’s lips against his own. He felt more complete than he’d felt for a long time. He felt _loved._ And in that moment, Greg threw all of the anxieties he’d talked to John about the night before out the window. 

Neither man noticed the door opening, or John walking in. John froze at the sight, and stepped back out of the room and closed the door as quietly as he could. The doctor smiled to himself. For once, things seemed to be going the right way. 


	14. Date Night

It was date night. Greg was trying hard to keep the negative self talk in the back of his mind instead of the forefront. He was excited, that was not in question; he just couldn’t stop thinking poorly of himself. He’d donned his best suit, but even that still looked dismally casual compared to Mycroft’s usual three piece. Greg didn’t know where they were going, but expected that it would be some place fancy that would make him feel uncomfortable even being there. He didn’t say anything to Mycroft about it, of course, because he knew that the fancy things were just a part of who the man was... and he wanted Mycroft to be comfortable. Some nice food and conversation would make up for the condescending looks he no doubt would receive. 

He stood in the hallway waiting for Mycroft to come out of his room. He’d been in there getting ready for quite some time. Greg thought that he’d been fussing about far too long, but apparently Mycroft spent more time on his appearance than most of the women Greg had known. That thought caused a smile to break out over his face.  
_Ever the perfectionist._

He began to wonder just what Mycroft was wearing. He no doubt would come out with some ridiculously expensive suit that, to Greg, looked exactly like the rest of his suits. The detective was never one for fancy upper class clothing. He could make out some small differences between a generic menswear suit and a tailored one. But that was about it. Once it got into differentiating expensive suits from other expensive suits from things like fibre content and origin, they all just looked the same to Greg. He hoped Mycroft could understand if he walked out expecting to be awed over from his dress and Greg couldn’t tell what was different. 

Greg chuckled to himself as his mind drifted into fantasies. His side still hurt a little from the bar incident a week ago, but he’d healed back up fairly well. In his mind’s eye he saw Mycroft walk out and await comment on his attire, to which Greg had just said ‘it’s blue.’

Before he could think of more situations, he heard the door to Mycroft’s room open. The British Government walked out and around the corner, and suddenly Greg couldn’t stop staring. He definitely could tell that there was something different. Mycroft smiled sheepishly to him, giving Greg such an adorable self conscious look that Greg couldn’t help but walk up and kiss him right there. 

“So you like it?” Mycroft asked.  
“Yeah… I mean, it’s not what I expected.” Greg said. 

It was true. Mycroft was wearing some plain black slacks, a textured blue shirt, and a jacket. He wasn’t even wearing a tie. It was the most casual Greg had ever seen him dressed… aside from pyjamas, of course. He looked… normal. Greg suddenly felt rather overdressed. 

“I do really like it Myc. Now _I_ feel like the fancy one.” Greg quipped, and Mycroft chuckled.  
“You may change into something more matching if you prefer.”  
“Um, sure, give me a sec.” Greg said, and hurried into his room. 

He was confused as to what exactly the context would be for the dinner, and why Mycroft was dressing down for their date.  
_Perhaps he wants to show he’s comfortable being himself around me? That the suits are part of his work façade?_

Greg felt warm thinking of those reasons, and decided that regardless of Mycroft’s intentions, those were what he was going to believe. He threw off his suit jacket, pulled off his tie, and slid on his leather jacket. It was a nice one, nice enough to still look appropriate at a fancy restaurant, and it was his favourite. 

“Ah, that’s the Gregory Lestrade I know.” Mycroft cooed as Greg walked back into the hall. Greg blushed and smiled at the man.  
“Are you sure that this is alright for where we’re going?” Greg asked as Mycroft indicated to the door.  
“Certainly. I would be honoured to accompany you dressed as such to the most elite of London’s restaurants, however that is not where we’re going tonight.” 

Greg knew that Mycroft was likely exaggerating, but he was happy he’d said it.   
“Where are we going then?” Greg asked as they got into the car.  
“It’s still a surprise. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” 

They rode in the back of Mycroft’s car for 15 minutes before the driver pulled over into a park. Greg got out of the car eagerly, and was face with a reasonably large restaurant. It looked upper class, but not overly fancy. The cut iron sign above the door said: 400 Gradi. Mycroft joined Greg, smiling. 

“So, you like it?”  
“Um, sure. I think…” Greg said, following Mycroft in the front doors. 

At least the people inside seemed to be dressed similar to the way they were. Smart to smart casual, and even a few tables with people in simple casual clothes. Greg felt the knot in his stomach loosen and the tension in his shoulders release. He didn’t know he was so tense. 

“Reservation for Holmes.” Mycroft spoke to the woman at the counter.  
She nodded, and took two menus with her as she lead the way to a small table in the back of the second room. Greg followed after Mycroft, and looked about as he walked. He noticed the food that was being served and started getting excited. They seated themselves at the table, complete with a small candle. The woman informed them that the waitress would be with them shortly to take their drink orders, and left back to the counter. 

“A pizza place? Really Myc?” Greg exclaimed.  
“Yes, is that ok?”  
“Ok? It’s amazing! I know you don’t exactly like the same foods as I do, and this just shows me how much you’ve considered my enjoyment in this… Really, Myc, it’s amazing. Thank you.”  
“While I do usually prefer healthier options, I do enjoy pizza. Particularly the ones served here… they are more traditional and less… oily.” Mycroft said in an ‘isn’t it obvious’ tone, opening his menu. He flicked his eyes up to Gregory, giving a cheeky smile. Greg felt warmth pool in his gut at the look he was given. He opened his own menu, and perused over the drinks first. 

“I don’t know what most of this is.” Greg said, looking down the wine list.  
“That’s quite alright Gregory. I can explain anything you aren’t sure of.”  
“Um… ‘bianca’. I’m assuming ‘rosso’ is red, so ‘bianca’ is maybe white?”

Mycroft looked at him for a moment, as if only just realising just how little Gregory knew about fine dining. He scolded himself mentally at just assuming Gregory was used to looking over menus written in Italian, and occasionally French in the wine list. Most of the people he associated with in a professional manner were well versed in these matters. He didn’t know how he could have forgotten that his Gregory wasn’t someone to partake in such luxuries. 

“How about I select a wine I know you’ll like.” Mycroft stated, knowing that Gregory would be overwhelmed by the many, many options he had no clue how to differentiate beyond ‘red’ and ‘white’.   
“Oh, you know what I like, eh?” Greg asked playfully.  
“In some respects, yes. I would be most interested to learn in others.” Mycroft said quietly, his voice laden with uncharacteristic innuendo. 

Greg swallowed.   
“Erm, yeah…ok.” He managed to get out. He tried to focus on deciphering the menu in order to stop the uncomfortable tightening in his trousers.   
“Geez, I’ve never paid 25 quid on a pizza before.” Greg said as he browsed the menu.   
“And neither will you today.” Mycroft said matter-of-factly, showing Greg that is was not optional. Greg had opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it again and smiled.  
“Thanks.” He mumbled in response. 

A waitress came over, and Mycroft addressed her in Italian. She returned the conversation in Italian, and so Greg had no idea what was being said. She made a few notes on her pad, and left. 

“So, you speak Italian?”  
“Obviously.” Mycroft stated. Greg got a flashback in his mind to when Sherlock used to tell him that in that exact tone. Greg decided to play along with it.  
“Trying to hide what wine you ordered, so I won’t know the cost, by speaking another language is clever to say the least. I assume then that all of the staff here speak Italian?” 

Mycroft looked at him for a moment in shock.   
“That’s … very good. You are good at your job, aren’t you, Detective Inspector?”  
“Oh, yes. I did manage to get the job before you or Sherlock came along, didn’t I?”  
“Indeed. Well then, it should be easy enough for you to deduce what I am thinking now, then?” Mycroft playfully said, leaning back in his chair. Greg exaggerated an observant gaze.  
“Yeah, I can.” He said, purposefully wanting Mycroft to ask him for more information.   
“Well, tell me then, detective.” Mycroft had a smug grin on his face.  
“Oh, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate for such a restaurant.” Greg uttered lustfully, “Perhaps I’ll tell you in the car.” 

Mycroft’s veneer broke and his eyes went wide with shock. He sat up straight and ran his hand down his front out of habit from flattening his waist coat. Greg stared at him smiling. He enjoyed making the British Government so unbalanced. 

“I think we had better make our meal selection.” Mycroft said, burying his face back into the menu. Greg followed suit, still beaming that he’d won the game.  
“At least there’s some English in the descriptions…” Greg said, reading what was on the various pizzas.  
“It is English, however the names of the ingredients cannot be altered.” Mycroft spoke.  
“Ok, but what is ‘fior di latte’? It’s on most of these …"  
“Cheese.”  
“Why can’t they just say ‘cheese’?”  
“Because it’s fior di latte cheese. Most people who would frequent this establishment would know what it is.”

Greg sighed. He hated bringing up that he wasn’t really upper class enough for Mycroft. He didn’t know what Italian cheeses were, or the differences between French wines. He couldn’t help but feel Mycroft wasn’t going to be happy with him. He wasn’t going to suddenly get into, what he called ‘fancy stuff’, and Mycroft would be sad he couldn’t share it with him. 

“What is it Gregory?”  
“Im sorry I’m not fancy enough for you.” Greg said before really thinking.  
“My dear, you are you. I don’t want you to be anything other than you. I don’t expect you to be able to speak Italian or understand what these things are that you have had no exposure to. I regret my comment, it implied that you were frustrating me. That was not what I intended.”  
“I worry that you’ll get sick of me not sharing your interest in this kind of stuff.”  
“I do not expect you to change, Gregory. If you enjoy these things, then great. If not, then that is fine also. Please don’t think I have expectations of you. I have only one.”

Greg let the words sink in a little to really fight against the opposing thoughts in his head. He nodded.   
“What is the one expectation?”  
“That you care for me as I do you.” 

Greg grinned, glad that he hadn’t brought up the suicide thing again. He’d been worried about that being on the forefront of Mycroft’s mind. He knew that it wasn’t really wrong of him to do so, but he was uncomfortable with it just the same. 

They discussed the pizzas a little more, and Greg had decided to try the one that sounded closest to his normal pizza: pepperoni. It had some special Italian salami and something called a ‘San Marzano’ tomato, with a pork and fennel sausage and the strange sounding cheese. Mycroft ordered a ‘pizza in bianco’, which Greg wasn’t sure how that even worked, with prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella and rocket. Mycroft ordered for the both of them in Italian to the waitress, who had brought over a bottle of wine and a bottle of chilled water. 

“How to you milk a buffalo?” Greg asked in honesty. Mycroft chuckled, sipped his wine, and leaned back in his chair.   
“What?” Greg insisted.  
“You are endlessly amazing, my dear. Always so curious.”   
“Well, I’ve always been curious about most things… I guess that’s part of why I’m good at my job.”  
“I would imagine so, yes. Tell me, do you like the wine?”

Greg hadn’t tried it yet. He took a sip, and tasted the fruity bouquet.   
“Fruity.” Greg stated, not sure if he should be commenting on something specific. Mycroft looked at him sternly to remind him not to try being someone else. Greg nodded.  
“I like it. Tastes good.” Greg said in his usual manner, and took a larger sip. Mycroft smiled. 

They conversed about a number of things, nothing particularly important, for the fifteen minutes it took for the pizza to arrive on their table. Greg started eagerly, not aware of how hungry he’d been. He reached out to pick up a slice, only to find that the base in the middle was so thin, all of the topping slid off onto the plate. Mycroft laughed, an honest, loud laugh. 

“Hey!” Greg interjected with a pouty face.   
“I’m sorry, but your expression was priceless.” Mycroft said as he grinned and held up a knife and fork.   
“These aren’t merely for decoration here. This is traditional Napoli pizza… it’s thin and saucy, needing to be eaten with cutlery. I think you’ll find the crust exquisite though. I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it.”  
“Nah, it’s alright. Should have known you’d force me to class up my pizza eating.” Greg joked, and began cutting up his pizza slice. 

“Oh my god, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had! It’s like it’s not even the same food as what I usually have.”  
Mycroft nodded, his mouth full of his own pizza. Greg quickly sliced off another large portion.  
“You might want to slow down, dear. You could give yourself indigestion.”  
“Yeah, I know, but seriously… if it meant I could eat more of this, it’d be worth it.” 

They sat in relative silence for a while. Greg had managed to eat half of his pizza while Mycroft was only starting on his second slice. Greg decided to let him catch up by dropping his cutlery. He couldn’t help but stare, and eye the pizza hungrily.   
“You may try some, if you like.” Mycroft said after noticing how intently Gregory was looking at his meal.   
“Oh, no, that’s yours. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”  
“It's quite alright, I will likely not finish this all anyway.” 

Mycroft didn’t wait for Gregory to accept his offer. He cut off a slice of pizza and slid it over onto Gregory’s plate. He felt like a rebel; he would never be caught doing something like that in any of his other usual restaurants. He rather liked the adrenaline rush it brought him. But he chuckled to himself, reminding himself that it was only sharing pizza. 

Greg hummed happily at tasting Mycroft’s food.  
“Mm, I didn’t really know how white pizza was going to work, but it’s great.” Greg said, taking another bite. He could see Mycroft trying not to laugh at his choice of words. 

The evening was turning out much better than Greg had anticipated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know of a fancy pizza place in London, so I picked one I went to in the capital city of my state. Please forgive the misplacement of this restaurant.


	15. Back on the Job

Greg laid in bed. His mind kept returning to the previous evening. They’d enjoyed some seriously tasty pizza, drank the whole bottle of wine between them, and gotten a little bit touchy in the car on the way back. Mycroft had stood at the front door, not opening it to let them in, and kissed him. It was long, passionate, and warm. Greg had wanted it to last longer. Honestly, he’d wanted Mycroft to open the door and kiss him into the bedroom. He had craved for more. But, Mycroft had broken the kiss, opened the door, and walked to his bedroom alone. 

It wasn’t all disappointing, though. Greg had changed out of his clothes and walked back into the living room to watch some telly, and found Mycroft there on the couch in his pyjamas and dressing gown. They’d snuggled up together and watched a movie. In reality, it was better to take things slow… and it was a wonderful first date. 

Greg heard a knock on the door.   
“Gregory, if you’re not up in ten minutes, Anderson will be here before you’re ready.” Mycroft spoke to the door. 

Greg sat up straight.  
“What?!” He shouted back.   
“Gregory, I have told you three times now that Anderson is coming today to take you to work.”   
“No, no I don’t think you mentioned that.” Greg said, hopping out of bed and searching for something to wear. He didn’t have time for a shower, it seemed. 

“I assure you I did. Yesterday before our date I asked you if you were ready to spend time time at work today.”   
“That’s not telling me Anderson is coming!” Greg said, hastily trying to put on his pants, but falling over instead. Mycroft heard the thump.   
“Are you ok?”  
“Yeah,” Greg grumbled, “Just fell over is all.”   
“Anyway, I then mentioned this morning that Anderson would be picking you up. And then I came and reminded you twenty minutes ago. I did get a muffled response, I thought you heard me.”

Greg opened the door, still looking disheveled, but at least clothed.   
“I probably wasn’t properly awake. I remember being woken up for some reason.” Greg said, ginning. He kissed Mycroft softly.   
“Last night was fun, we should do it again soon.” 

Before he wanted for a response, he walked past Mycroft and into the kitchen.   
“Er… yeah,” Mycroft cleared his throat, “Yes, I would like that very much.”   
“That’s good.” Greg said, holding a glass of juice and munching into a muesli bar. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and made an insincere grunt of disapproval. Greg smiled as he shook his head in Mycroft’s direction. He walked up and stood beside Gregory in the kitchen doorway.  
“You should comb your hair dear.” Mycroft spoke softly, running his fingers through the silver hair.   
“Hmmn, or you could just keep doing that.” Greg groaned, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling.   
“No, we wouldn’t want Mr Anderson to make some incorrect assumptions regarding us.”   
“Oh, I dunno, give it time… won’t be incorrect for very long.” Greg responded slyly. 

Mycroft choked on nothing, coughing slightly. Greg chuckled, and ran his hand up Mycroft’s chest.   
“But you’re right, I should go fix myself up.” Greg said playfully, and left the man standing stunned outside the kitchen. 

The doorbell rang, and Mycroft jumped. He took a deep breath, flattened his suit, and walked to the door. He took a moment before opening it to fully regain his composure. He opened the door slowly, and stood with his usual ominous presence. 

“Good morning, Mr Anderson.” Mycroft said coldly.   
“Mr Holmes.” Anderson responded, obviously nervous.   
“Gregory will be a moment.” Mycroft stated, making no indications to invite the man inside. 

They waited in uncomfortable silence (well, uncomfortable for Anderson) until Greg appeared at the door. He was hesitant to join Anderson at the doorway, but knew he had to either way. But the moment he clasped eyes on the man, he knew that Mycroft had been correct in saying he’d been taking things hard. He was wearing a baggy jumper that reminded him of John, jeans, and was unshaven. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Anderson with facial hair. A weary smile escaped his lips as he joined the men in the doorway. 

“Good to see you, Lestrade.” Anderson spoke softly.   
“Yeah, you too, Anderson.” Greg said. He knew Mycroft could tell that he was lying.   
“Ok, pleasantries exchanged, now please proceed to work gentlemen. I must not be late again.” Mycroft spoke curtly, all but shoving Gregory out the door and closing it behind them. 

~ 

“So, I’ve been going over your old cases for you, and collecting them all together. I thought it might help.” Anderson said, placing a large box in front of Greg on his desk.   
“Oh, um, thanks.” Greg said. He was a little intimidated by the size of the box, but at the same time, disappointed that a large portion of his career was in just this box. 

“You… you know this isn’t all of it, right? I haven’t even managed to put the past five years things together yet.”   
“Why are you putting _all_ of my cases out? Does the Chief doubt my competence in anything I’ve done?” Greg grumbled.   
“No…no! That’s not… I just thought, I don’t remember which ones Sherlock helped with, and maybe it’d help having it all there so you can just pick it up and remember yes or no… I know you didn’t exactly write all of his help down.”

Greg looked at Anderson directly. He was nervous still.   
“Anderson, is Mycroft threatening you?”  
“No, honestly, Lestrade. He’s not.”  
“Then what’s with you? You haven’t been snide at all this whole hour.”

Anderson looked at the floor and shuffled his feet, but remained silent. 

“Spit it out.” Greg snapped. He wanted to be compassionate, but was still finding it rather difficult. He knew the resentment would fade entirely eventually, it had so much already, but he just wasn’t handling his own emotions particularly well and so a little aggression could be overlooked. 

“I… I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I haven’t managed to work out what to say.”  
“Well, when you work it out, you know where my office is.” Greg said.   
“Oh … um… yeah, alright.” Anderson stuttered, and walked out. 

“No… that’s not what I…” Greg uttered under his breath once Anderson had left. He hadn’t meant to send him off, but realised how what he’d said came across as. He sighed and let his head rest on the table. It was rather difficult being back at the Yard. He’d gotten a lot of looks on his way up through the building. Sally had at least had the decency to look awkward for a moment, before nodding at him and calling him ‘boss’. 

He hated that everything was different now. He wasn’t doing his usual work, his colleagues weren’t treating him the way they normally did, and his boss wasn’t just an objective higher-up voice anymore. He wanted people to stop looking at him. He couldn’t tell if they were looking out of curiosity, pity, or hatred. His emotions took a downward turn the moment he got out of the car. He just point blank wanted to avoid it all, but he knew he couldn’t. This was for Sherlock. 

He took a deep breath and rallied strength enough to face his task.   
_Step one: determine which cases Sherlock was involved in._

Greg thought for a moment and realised that was a rather large step one.  
_Step 1.1: find the very first case._

He rifled through the box, and found the case file he was looking for. It seemed Anderson hadn’t known which case was the first time he’d encountered the mad genius, but knew the approximate time. Greg flipped open the file. Even though it was all digital these days, there was something about having a physical file before him that he always loved in a way a computer screen couldn’t do. He smiled warmly at the memories. 

Sherlock had been just a kid then. Not really, but young enough. He perused through the notes he’d written all those years ago. He didn’t mention that Sherlock had helped him solve the case… but he had mentioned that a young man had trespassed on the crime scene, but was released pending no further investigation. He closed his eyes and could see the genius standing there, curls still whisping outwards as they always did. He’d dressed differently back then. He didn’t start wearing upper class clothing or his signature jacket until he’d gotten clean with Greg’s help. 

He started to reminisce. Walking into the spa, finding the body in the sauna, and having forensics tell him she died of hypothermia. He chuckled as he remembered shouting at the forensics team that they were incompetent if that’s what they thought. That was when he’d first heard that deep baritone voice.  
_“They’re not incompetent, you just need to observe.”_

“Lestrade?”  
Greg jumped in his chair and looked up at the voice that broke him from his reverie.   
“Donovan.”  
“Listen. I know it’s probably rough for you and all to be back, but I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re here. It’s not the same without you, sir.”   
“Oh. Um, thanks.” Greg said uncomfortably. 

“I… I wanted to say, that I don’t regret my actions. But I never wanted what happened to happen. I was just trying to do my job… we, we are always looking for the truth, and we can’t just deny possibilities whenever evidence is presented… no matter how difficult. I know you know that cause you felt the same when we took it to the Chief. I just don’t want you to think of me as a bad person in doing so because I really had no idea the press would do what they did, or that he’d…yeah. What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for the outcome.” 

Greg didn’t respond. He just nodded at her. He knew she was technically right, that as detectives they had to seriously consider all possibilities. He’d known that that night. And he knew that as much as Sally resented Sherlock, she never would have wanted the harm that befell him. And her saying so was probably the kindest thing she’d said in a while. It was getting increasingly difficult to separate himself from his peers. It seemed more and more that they were just doing their jobs, like he had… even if he’d done it more reluctantly and with more benefit for Sherlock in mind. 

“I also thought you should know that it was me that worked to get John cleared of any charges. The Chief Superintendent was pretty fuming about the whole thing and wanted John in irons.”   
“I… I didn’t realise.” Greg uttered. He’d never really thought about that before. He’d assumed Mycroft had just ‘taken care’ of everything. He didn’t stop to think that there was still active charges against John after Sherlock’s death, nor that Sally would be the one to help remove them.   
“Thank you.” Greg said after a moment. 

“I should have told you sooner but you were so angry at us. I just wanted to keep clear of you, and honestly I was pretty pissed at you because you’d done the same as us and it’s not like we intended any of it to happen.”  
  
Greg sunk into his chair, guilt washing over him. He didn’t feel like he had the right to stop her talking. 

“I may have been a bit awful to you, but I didn’t realise how bad it all was. I didn’t want to push you over the edge. Phillip and I have been feeling like we were the last straw and pushed you into trying to take your own life.” Donovan spoke, her voice soft.   
“Sally-” Greg started, but was cut off.   
“I’m sorry. For being a bitch, and for not realising that your goodbye was a real goodbye.” 

Greg didn’t know what to say. Sally didn’t say sorry often, so she obviously was feeling regretful even if she didn’t show it like Phillip.   
“Thanks.” Greg said, nodding. She returned the nod, and walked out. 

Things seemed to be better between them, but not by much. It was still awkward, but the onus of it seemed to now fall on Greg. It was going to be a hell of a day. 


	16. Difficult Days and Nights

Gregory was late. Mycroft had expected him to be home before himself, but he’d arrived back to an empty house. He tried not to pace about, but he couldn’t help it. His anxious mind was quick to throw horrible scenarios at him. 

About an hour after Mycroft had gotten home, he heard the door click as the handle turned. He was still standing in the hallway, and so looked at Gregory as he entered. His heart sank at what he saw. The man was obviously stressed, exhausted, and looked on the verge of tears. He looked up at Mycroft with pleading, wide eyes. Mycroft didn’t know what to say, but just opened up his arms in an invitation for a hug. Gregory immediately walked up and nestled into the embrace. 

“It’s alright, dear.” Mycroft lulled as he held onto the man firmly.  
“I was a bugger of a day, Myc.” Greg mumbled into Mycroft’s clothes.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
“I dunno what to say.”  
“Come, let’s sit on the couch. You can say anything that comes to mind.”

Mycroft ushered Gregory into the lounge. He sat on one side, and pulled the detective down to join him, laying against his chest. 

“So, what happened?”  
“Just… everything, nothing in particular. Sally was blunt with me, and I got upset because what she was saying was true, and felt bloody guilty over my treatment of her and Anderson. He, by the way, tried to be helpful all day and it creeped me out. He never said anything to me though I know he’s got stuff he wants to say; he just kept offering to do things for me.”  
“Shall I have a word with Ms Donovan?” Mycroft asked soothingly.  
“No, it wasn’t that kind of talk… she wasn’t being mean, just… honest. And she was apologetic in one part.”  
“Very well.” Mycroft stated, and softly stroked Gregory’s arm.

“I hated the stares I got from everyone, but I know I couldn’t have expected anything else. It’ll fade away soon enough. And then there was the cases - I have done a lot of work over the past six years, Myc. There's all hell of a lot to go through to just start identifying the ones that Sherlock helped with. And a part of me wants to just pick only three or so of the bigger ones before John started writing his blog, since no one is really the wiser about it all, but I know that it wouldn’t do him justice. And even once I have all the cases identified that he helped with, then what? How am I supposed to go about proving he wasn’t involved in setting it up?”  
“Relax, dear. You don’t have to worry about that yet. Just focus on the single task ahead of you first. Worrying about the future like that isn’t necessary: it will happen, unavoidably, whether or not you’ve spent all the time up to it worrying about it.”  
“It’s not as easy to just stop thinking about it.”  
“I know, but eventually you will be able to just put that thought aside for the future, and focus on just the now. I believe it’s a technique that is quite often employed to help depression.”

Greg went silent and looked down. Mycroft noticed his demeanour.  
“No no, dearest Gregory… I wasn’t scolding you or telling you of a failing on your part… I just want to try help you. I understand it’s not as easy as just knowing the best thing to do.”

Mycroft bent over and kissed his head gently.   
“Thanks.” Greg mumbled, and leaned harder into Mycroft’s chest.   
“Thinking about him so much was difficult. I mean, I remembered the first case he helped on - I felt a rush of happiness thinking about it.”  
“I understand.”  
“Him and his youthful bouncy attitude back then. He never really grew out of that, did he?”  
Mycroft chuckled.  
“No, he never really stopped being a child in some respects.” 

There was silence for a moment.   
“I miss him, Myc.” Greg uttered, but a whisper.  
“I do too, Gregory.” Mycroft said, returning the quiet sentiment. 

Mycroft wasn’t lying. He did miss his younger brother. He never anticipated that he’d feel so attached to Sherlock that having him abroad would cause an honest missing. Mycroft swallowed gently. Lying to them all… or, most often, omitting truths… had been honestly the hardest thing he’d had to do so far. He’d had experience in it before, and so was able to keep up the façade; but the more he cared for Gregory, the harder he found it. At least with his parents he never had to spend copious amounts of time around them and never had to be responsible for their care in the wake of the news. 

“Perhaps you should have an early night, Gregory. You look positively exhausted.”  
“Yeah… I think I will.”   
“We’ll get you some dinner. What would you like?”  
“Why, are you cooking?”  
“I… could, if you like.” Mycroft said uncertainly. He knew he wasn’t much of a cook.  
“Anything would be fine with me.”

Mycroft nodded and stood, causing Gregory to fall down into the couch with a grunt. He muttered an apology, but then left. He could feel the guilt swirling around in his stomach from the deception. It was unusual, since he normally was able to maintain a deception with ease. He just couldn’t stop feeling like he was betraying Gregory, and using him to meet his own ends. He tried to remind himself that the fall had saved Gregory’s life, but it rang hollow given how he’d almost lost that anyway. 

“You alright, Myc?” Greg called out from afar.   
“Yeah.” Mycroft grumbled. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Suddenly Gregory was right beside him.   
“You looked rather distant.” Greg stated. He’d seen the man retreat into his ‘mind palace’ a few times, but the expression on his face had been different in those times. This time he seemed strained.   
“Yeah, just thinking about… work.” Mycroft rationalised. It wasn’t really misleading, since maintaining his façade was indeed a job.   
“Tough day all ‘round.” Greg said, opening the fridge.  
“Yes.” Mycroft responded, still distant. The day wasn’t over yet. 

~ 

_Greg found himself walking up the stairs to 221B Baker Street.  
_ _“Sherlock?” He called out. There was no response. He walked into the living room, and looked about. Everything was as Sherlock had left it. John hadn’t changed anything.  
_ _“John?” Greg spoke, his voice quieter. There was something eerie about the stillness of the room._

_Greg left the living room and went to look in the other rooms. Sherlocks’ bedroom was as it always had been. The bathroom was clean. Greg looked about, and then jumped when he saw the flash of a man standing behind him in the mirror. He flung himself around to see, only to find himself alone. He looked back at the mirror. Nobody but his own reflection. But he could have sword he saw Sherlock standing there with his cold blue gaze._

_Greg shook his head and walked back towards the sitting room. He eyed the stairs that lead to John’s bedroom. He wondered if he should go check for someone up there. He tentatively moved his feet to press one upon the first step._

_“Don’t.” He heard a deep baritone voice from behind him. Again, he whirled around, but found no one there. His heart hammered in his chest._

_He left the staircase and entered the living room.  
_ _“Sherlock?” Greg whispered, “Are you here?”  
_ _“I never left.”_

 _Greg was panicking, and his eyes darted about for the source of the voice.  
_ _“But… but you’re dead.” Greg said shakily.  
_ _“Yes.”_

_He dropped to the floor and sat with his knees pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around them. Suddenly he felt himself being held. His eyes flickered open and saw that Mycroft was there, holding him. He was uttering assurances, but Greg couldn’t hear them. Suddenly, he saw the tall figure of Sherlock standing in the corner. His skin was even paler than normal, his blue eyes piercing as he looked down upon him sternly. Greg shouted and crawled backwards on the floor. Mycroft looked at the corner, but apparently saw nothing._

_“Sherlock…”  
_ _“Sherlock’s dead.” Mycroft reminded him.  
_ _“Yes… no, no he’s right there…” Greg muttered.  
_ _“I know he’s not really here.” Mycroft said firmly.  
_ _“Why is he haunting me?”_

 _“I’m not.” Sherlock spoke, suddenly standing right behind Mycroft.  
_ _“Why are you here then?!” Greg shouted, fear gripping his chest.  
_ _“You brought me here.” Sherlock said, his face changing to be one of sympathy.  
_ _“I… I don’t understand…” Greg mumbled. He noticed Mycroft was talking at him, but he again couldn’t hear the words. He stood to look Sherlock in the eye, only to find him gone again. He swirled on the spot._

 _“I couldn’t save myself, but I can still save you.”  
__Greg could hear the pounding of his own heart as he listened to Sherlock’s words.  
__“Sherlock!” Greg shouted, and suddenly Mycroft was standing right in front of him.  
__“Sherlock’s dead, Gregory.” Mycroft said firmly.  
__“But… he said he could save me… what if he’s not?”_  
_“He is. I know it for sure.”_  
_“How?”_  
_“Because I killed him.” Mycroft said, an evil grin escaping his lips. Greg’s eyes went wide, and he turned to run as fast as he could. He screamed._

Greg awoke to find that he was still screaming. He panted as he realised it was all just a dream. He was covered in sweat. He couldn’t make sense of the dream. He could understand Sherlock being a ghost and haunting his apartment, but Mycroft killing him? Where had that come from? Greg wasn’t sure he had any anxieties relating to that or anything it could mean.  
_Sometimes dreams don’t mean anything._

Greg breathed deeply and decided to wash his face. He got up and left the room, and headed for the bathroom. He splashed the cold water over his face and arms, and dried himself with the towel. He knew it was silly, but he didn’t want to look in the mirror. He didn’t want to see Sherlock standing there behind him. He gripped the sink.  
_No, you’re being silly Lestrade. It was just a dream. A silly nonsense dream._

He forced himself to stand up and look at himself, and he saw a man standing behind him. He screamed as his whole body jumped, instinctively flipping himself around to face the man. After the split second of panic, Greg realised it was Mycroft standing there. 

“Gregory, are you alright?” Mycroft asked, concerned.   
“Yeah… you scared me.”   
“I gathered, I’m sorry.”  
“No no, not your fault… just something from my dream.”  
“It sounded rather intense. Do you want to tell me about it?” Mycroft offered. 

He saw that Gregory paled slightly and hesitated. So, unpleasant dream that involved him.  
“I won’t be offended by your subconscious, dear.” Mycroft added. 

"It was silly. Sherlock was haunting his flat, and when I went there I saw him in the mirror like I just did with you. He said that he never left, and then he started talking to me about saving me because he couldn’t save himself… and then… you…” Greg gulped, “You said you killed him.” 

Mycroft stiffened. He’d made a phone call to Sherlock while Gregory was sleeping, and it sounded like his subconscious had heard it and processed it into a nightmare. He had talked about ‘assisting his suicide’ and of it all being to ‘save Gregory, John, and Mrs Hudson’.  
“Do… do you mind if I hold you?” Mycroft asked, aware that Gregory was seemingly avoiding his gaze. The man shook his head and walked up to hug Mycroft. 

“I know it’s probably just because I've started going back over the past, trying to remember Sherlock helping me on cases.”  
“Perhaps.” Mycroft stated.  
“I’m not going to stop, though. Not even if Sherlock really does start haunting me.”  
“That won’t happen, dear." Mycroft stated, not stating why. 

Mycroft gently tugged Gregory back to his bedroom, and sat with him on the bed.   
“Will you… lay with me a while?” Greg asked after a moment.  
“Um, certainly.” 

Greg laid down, and patted the sheets behind him. He knew Mycroft was uncomfortable, but at the same time, he knew that the British Government felt uncomfortable in most physical contact situations… even if he secretly wanted them. He just needed a push sometimes. 

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was supposed to lay on or underneath the bedding. He knew on would imply he intended to leave soon, and didn’t want Gregory to feel abandoned. But he knew underneath seemed presumptuous at an extended stay, and didn’t want to make out he was taking things too fast. He just seemed to lower him self down incredibly slowly, as if he could decide before he hit the bed what he was going to do. 

Greg gently rolled his eyes, not even having to look at the man to know he was struggling with internal conflict. He made the decision for him and pulled back the sheets before Mycroft could lay on them. He flicked them back over the man’s body as he snuggled up beside Greg. An inch closer and he could call it a ‘spoon’, and so Greg shuffled back until his body was pressed up against Mycroft’s. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, though.” Greg muttered.   
“Mind?”   
“If Sherlock did haunt me. At least I could see him again.”   
“Really? You would want to see him that much?” Mycroft stated, secretly hopeful it meant that Gregory would be able to handle Sherlock’s return to the living.  
“I’d give anything for that daft git to be around again. I don’t care how it happens.” Greg said, relaxing to Mycroft’s touch. 

“Maybe we’ll see him again one day.” Mycroft stated, reaching across and holding Gregory’s middle. 

Greg thought it sounded rather far fetched for Mycroft to say, but guessed that Mycroft was willing to consider things beyond logic in his longing to have his brother back.


	17. Meeting Mary

Things had been going well for quite some time for Greg, John, and Mycroft. Two months had passed without much incident (thankfully). 

Greg continued with his sessions, and was actually enjoying the ones with the psychologist. His psychiatrist was nice enough, but felt too controlling for his taste. She seemed to want mostly to just medicate him. Greg didn’t have the option to refuse the antidepressants while in the hospital, and he couldn’t really tell if they were working or not. The psychiatrist seemed to think so, but Greg knew that his situation had changed a lot since starting them and so might actually not be doing anything to help. 

He’d also been a lot more content at work. Donovan had treated him like her normal self since the second day, and Anderson was also more of himself… just less of an arsehole, which Greg didn’t mind. In fact, he’d actually gotten a lot closer to the man mostly because he no longer had that arrogant abrasive attitude. 

The cases were progressing nicely. He’d almost finished identifying which ones Sherlock had helped him with. He'd decided, with the help Mycroft, that the next step would be to outline _how_ and _when_ Sherlock had helped with each case. The _when_ had been brought to his attention since Mycroft mentioned he had significant surveillance of Sherlock over the years filed away, and so if Greg could outline when the incidents happened - which was usually fairly easy, since most often the cases were murders and the time of death was recorded for each one - then Mycroft could produce video footage of that same time frame. Greg knew that it was unlikely that Sherlock was within view of Mycroft’s cameras all of the time. But, any footage would be a quick and easy way to prove Sherlock’s innocence. 

Greg was honestly grateful for the work the British Government did to monitor everything around him… so much so that he didn’t care about the cameras watching his every move. Originally he didn’t mind as such, but was more just glad to be rid of the constant bodyguard. He had nothing to hide, anyway. He now even occasionally gave a knowing smirk to some of the ones he passed in Mycroft’s house and along the way to work.

John was also managing well at his job. He enjoyed the satisfaction that he helped people during the day, made a difference somehow, but then could shut off and relax at home. It was a different lifestyle than he was used to - first it was University, with schoolwork pressing upon his every waking hour at home, and classes during the day. And then there had been Afghanistan, where he was always on call and always alert. The war didn’t stop at 5, after all. And after that, following his brief period of empty days, there had been Sherlock. Crazy adventures at all hours, working in the clinic for some of the day, and being kept awake by the genius’ activities during the night. 

He met up with Greg regularly, however they didn’t meet at the pub very often anymore. They mutually agreed that it might be best to meet elsewhere, and do other activities, given _that_ time at the pub.

One topic of conversation that came up often was the new receptionist at the clinic - Mary. John liked her, and had wrestled himself for a couple of weeks before getting the courage (at Greg’s encouragement) to ask her out on a date. It had gone remarkably well, and John had been grinning for days following it. He promptly had organised another, and then another following that one. 

Mycroft was enjoying having Gregory around all the time. He’d taken him to his personal favourite places to eat in London, and to some places he thought Gregory would like. He still felt a little anxious letting Gregory spend time on his own, unwatched, but Mycroft knew it had to happen eventually. He’d spent so much of his life avoiding personal relationships that it felt so wonderful to share a deeper bond with another person. He felt warmer when Gregory was around, more like he was alive. He had begun to wonder if perhaps he really had been frozen all this time. 

Work for Mycroft had been fairly standard. He’d not had to leave unexpectedly to a foreign nation, and so he called it a ‘slow time’. Not that he minded, of course. There was always the updates he tried to get from Sherlock, but he tried not to think about that too much. His brother’s existence, or rather, _continued_ existence, had been proving more and more stressful for Mycroft. He tried to ignore it, but the closer he felt to Gregory, the more guilty he became for his deception. 

It was Friday. John had asked Greg over for tea before going out on another date with Mary - with whom he’d organised to meet at his house. Even if Greg hadn’t been a detective, it would have been obvious that John wanted Greg to meet Mary. Greg said nothing when he was invited; he didn’t know if John new he knew Mary was coming over. He’d assured him that he’d need to leave in time for his dinner with Mycroft. 

“Greg, good to see you, come in.” John said, stepping away from the door and letting the man into the house.   
“Good to see you too.” 

They walked into the kitchen where John began making tea. He knew how Greg liked it by now, and so just started making it.   
“How are things?” John asked casually.  
“Yeah, good. As I said, got a date tonight with Mycroft.”  
John chuckled.   
“What?”  
“You don’t need to say ‘with Mycroft’, you know. I know you guys are together - it’s not like you’d have a date with anyone else.”   
“Yeah… habit, I guess.” Greg said, smiling to himself. He liked to hear that he was indeed ‘together’ with Mycroft Holmes. 

“You?”  
“Ah, pretty good. The clinic has been a bit busy in the past few days, but nothing too major going on there.”  
“That’s good I guess.” Greg responded. 

The kettle boiled and John poured the water into the mugs. He passed Greg his.   
“So… table or couch?” John asked. Greg knew he was asking what atmosphere their conversation was going to be about. It hadn’t taken him long to work out that John used the table for serious or emotional conversations, and the couch for lighthearted and pointless-but-for-company talks. He’d liked that he could just say he wanted a cuppa at the table and John knew what it meant. 

“Um, either’s fine with me.” Greg responded, as he usually did when wanting to know what John was talking about. He briefly wondered if John would have understood such things before living with Sherlock. It didn’t matter really.   
  
“How about the table?”   
Greg nodded and took his usual seat. John joined him.   
“So, what’s up?” Greg asked, not needing to bother with preamble.   
“Oh, just got a date with Mary soon, and she’s coming ‘round here first.”   
“Alright. I kinda gathered you wanted to introduce us.” 

John looked awkward for a moment but then just sighed with relief.   
“I just… I dunno, want to take a step forward with her, but nothing too big right now.”   
“Yeah, I get it.”  
“And I am interested to know what you think. Honestly, that is.” John said, sipping his tea.  
“Oh, as a friend or detective?” Greg asked, making it obvious he was having some fun. 

John smiled at him.   
“Both, since that’s you.”   
“Alright, but you know, it really only matters what you think of her.”   
“You’re my best friend, Greg… now… your opinion matters to me.” John said, wincing uncomfortably at the hint of Sherlock.   
“You can’t be serious that you miss Sherlock’s grilling of your girlfriends?”   
“What? Lord, no. But I do still want your opinion.” 

Greg nodded, and they were silent for the moment. John must have found it uncomfortable, since he started talking again.   
“So, have you and Mycroft…?” John asked, flicking his eyebrows up suggestively. Greg spluttered on his tea.   
“What?”   
“Just curious mate. Sharing, you know.” John said, his gaze darting about everywhere except at Greg. Suddenly it felt like they were young women sitting about gossiping. Greg honestly didn’t mind having those kinds of conversations, and had always hated that it wasn’t socially acceptable for men to do so. But if John was asking…

“No, not yet. We’ve slept together - actually sleeping, that is - a couple of times so far, and we’ve kissed a lot, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”   
“So he’s taking it slow?"  
“Yeah, seems it. I don’t want to push him. I mean, I know I’m a lot more sexually inclined than he is… or at least I think so, it’s a bit hard to tell with him. So I want to go at his pace.”  
“That’s considerate of you. But have you considered that he’s waiting for you to be comfortable and make the move? Or that he just simply expects that you’ll make the move once you’re ready, and so assumes you’re not? Are you even ready? Sorry, I know I’m being nosy…”  
“No, not it’s fine. I’ve always wanted a mate I can be this open with.” Greg said, smiling at John. He hoped that the doctor understood that he wanted the sharing to be reciprocated. 

“I honestly hadn’t really thought about it. He seems in control of everything so I’ve just let him be in control of that too.”  
“Well, if Mycroft is … inexperienced… and knows that you are not, then it’s probably what he’s doing. Waiting for you to make the move, that is.”  
“Hm. Is it something I should ask him about?”  
“You could, or you could be more direct about it and see his reaction.” John said, smiling into his cup. 

Greg drank more of his tea while he considered it all. Mycroft had really only reciprocated things that Greg had initiated - aside from their first kiss, however. The soft touches, the hugging, the cuddling together on the couch, the sleeping in the same bed after spooning… Greg had been the one to do it first.   
_Well, that changes tonight’s plans…_

"Why are you smiling like that?” John asked. Greg hadn’t been aware he’d been making any face whatsoever.   
“Just thinking about tonight.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna take your advice.” 

John laughed and clapped his hand on Greg’s shoulder. Just as John tipped the last of the liquid into his mouth, the doorbell rang.  
“Oh, that’d be Mary.” 

Greg’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. She was here earlier than he’d expected, but that was really just because Greg had anticipated only a quick ‘hello, I’m Greg, have a good night’ kind of conversation. As it was, there was an hour of chatting ahead of time before Greg was expected to leave. Suddenly he felt a bit nervous. 

John answered the door, and lead Mary inside.   
“I’ve got my mate Greg here. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you a cuppa?” John said, waving for Mary to join Greg at the table. Greg stood up and smiled at her. 

“Hi, I’m the aforementioned Greg. Lestrade. Detective. Inspector.” Greg stated awkwardly as he held out his hand. Mary smiled and shook it firmly.   
“Hello, I’m Mary. So of those, which would you like me to call you?”   
“Greg’s fine.”   
“Nice to meet you, Greg. I’ve heard a bit about you from John.” 

Greg turned his eyes towards John in the kitchen, who was pouring out another cup of tea for himself and one for Mary. He tried to catch the man’s gaze to ask what kind of things he’d mentioned, but it was to no avail. 

“Refill, Greg?”   
“Um, sure.” Greg said. Honestly, he didn’t fancy more tea, but he wanted some way to avoid conversation should he need to. 

John joined them once they all had their beverages.   
“So, you work with John?”  
“Yeah, I’m his receptionist.” Mary said, smiling. She had a brief look of ‘I know you knew that’, but it faded quickly.   
“And the clinic is ok with you two dating?” Greg asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He just couldn’t help fall back on things he was more comfortable with - and even if it was a bit of a stretch, it was still ‘law’. John looked a little uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, they’re fine with it. As long as it stays professional at work, there’s no issue.”   
“Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to just jump in…”  
“No, it’s fine, Greg.” Mary said, cutting him off. “I’ve had worse asked of me.”  
“Oh?” Greg asked, voicing John’s interest as well.   
“Yeah. I mean you can’t start dating one of the doctors without people asking if you’re just trying to get a raise or promoted or some kind of special benefit.”   
“That’s awful.” Greg responded.   
“It’s ok. People are idiots. They can be kind, but more often than not, they just don’t get some things.” Mary stated bluntly with a smile, and drank more tea. 

Greg looked at her curiously for a moment. He couldn’t help but hear Sherlock saying those words. As the conversation continued, the feeling that she was very much like Sherlock only increased. It wasn’t a bad thing, and Greg didn’t think that she was a sociopath, but it did explain John’s attraction to her. Even if John didn’t want to admit it. 

“Hahaha, well… I didn’t mean to, I just accidentally fell." Greg said, recounting a funny story of his past that he wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to talk about.   
“I’m sure it was all innocent.” Mary quipped.   
“Oi, I can assure you, I was quite the gentleman. I mean, it was a full minute before I tried to kiss him.” Greg said, still laughing.   
“So, did he?” John asked.   
“Have the egg? Yeah, he did.”   
“No, did he kiss you back?”

Greg smiled and went a little red.   
“Oh well that answers that.” Mary stated, giggling in a high pitched tone. 

John started talking about some of the times he’d had misfortune befall him (humorous misfortune; not the actual things involving the war, getting shot, being covered in semtex, watching his best friend commit suicide). Greg looked away at the mention of the time he vomited on John. Greg noticed that John mentioned Sherlock. And then he started talking in depth about a situation involving Sherlock. Greg was taken aback - John had rarely talked about the man since his death. He still showed distress at the mention of him - and yet here he was, talking about some of his adventures. 

“He sounds wonderful, John. I can absolutely understand it.” Mary stated, not really specifying what she meant by ‘it’.   
“Yeah.” John exhaled. Greg wasn’t sure if Mary knew about Sherlock’s death, but told himself she’d have to know.  
“I would have loved to have met him.” She said with a sad tone.   
“I know he would have liked you.” John responded in the same sorrowful tone. 

Sensing that things were about to head into a dangerous level of emotions, Greg stood.   
“Um, I better get going. Mycroft is expecting me, and you know how he hates me being late.”   
“Oh, yeah, sure, thanks for coming over, Greg. It was great to catch up.”  
“Likewise. We’ll meet again soon, yeah?”  
“It was lovely to meet you, Greg. I hope I’ll see you again soon as well.” Mary said, reaching out to shake Greg’s hand. He shook it and then walked to the door. 

John walked with him a little further.   
“Hey, you have fun tonight.” He uttered so that Mary wouldn’t hear. Greg returned his smile, and then left. Yes, he hoped he would have fun. 


	18. Making a Move

Greg cut into his steak. Mycroft had ordered a Waldorf salad with braised chicken, and Greg couldn’t help but think he did it just to appear healthy. He knew Mycroft had an issue with his weight. He didn’t fight against him by saying that he didn’t need to worry, because he doubted that would help any. Instead, he usually just commented that he looked good. Greg didn’t have a problem with that, and Mycroft managed to blush each time. In a way it was sad that simple remarks regarding the man’s looks got such a reaction, as if it was the only time he’d heard them. Greg hoped that the repetitive positive feedback would eventually help Mycroft’s self image. 

“You look great tonight.” Greg said. Yep, there was that adorable blush.   
“Thank you. It’s silk.” Mycroft mumbled.   
“No, not your suit, though I do like it… I mean YOU look great.”  


Mycroft wasn’t sure how to react to that. He was used to his appearance only looking nice because of his formal attire…but lately Gregory had begun to comment on other things he liked. Like his eyes, his hair (the natural colour was apparently more appealing to him), his hands… At first, Mycroft had assumed he was just playing around. But Gregory had been serious from the start. 

Greg smiled with a piece of meat bulging from his cheeks. He’d consciously avoided chewing with his mouth open around Mycroft, but he wasn’t sure how having ‘too much’ in his mouth would go down. The British Government had commented once, but it seemed to make him uncomfortable in an entirely different manner. He saw that Mycroft’s eyes flickered up to him, and then he cleared his throat and looked away, still slightly pink from before. Greg was pleased with himself. He wanted to try make as much innuendo as possible to hopefully get the idea planted into Mycroft’s head. 

“So, Gregory, how is your work coming along?”  
“Yeah, good actually. I’ve got all the cases together, I think, that Sherlock helped on. I even got to go out to a crime scene today. I mean, obviously I haven’t been given many new cases since I’ve been working on my old files. But I was asked to join along on this one, and I don’t have a whole lot to do about it since it’s still Dimmock’s case.”  
“That’s good, although it sounds like your office colleagues have taken pity on you.”  
“Yeah, I know, but hey, I’m not complaining. I mean I liked to be the important detective, solving all the cases all the time, but I don’t feel the need to be that guy right now.”   
“I’m glad. You were under a lot of stress.”  
“Yeah, but it’s not like that ever goes away… even with these old cases.” 

Mycroft smiled at him.   
“Yeah but you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?”  
Greg chuckled.   
“Nah.” 

“How about you? Work going ok?”  
“I can’t talk about it.”   
“I know, but you can at least tell me if you’re stressed or not.”   
“It’s always stressful.”  
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have it any other way would you?” Greg said, attempting to replicate Mycroft’s intonation from moments before. 

Mycroft laughed.  
“Indeed. Oh, you are wonderful, my dear.” Mycroft said as he breathed out and took his wine in hand.   
“How so?” 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow, and looked briefly around him. He leaned in closer to Gregory.   
“You are the light that brightens my day.” 

This time it was Greg’s turn to turn red. He smiled like a teenager being told he was loved for the first time ever. Mycroft hadn’t said the words, but it was close enough.

“You… give me reason to live.” Greg said softly, gazing into Mycroft’s eyes. 

It was all the more powerful because they both knew how true it was. Mycroft reached out and placed his hand over Greg’s on the table. Greg felt electricity jolt through his body at the contact. It was a little strange for him, to feel this way - he hadn’t in such a long time, not even when dating his wife. He guessed that the difference was mostly his emotions were running wild over his life and not listening to his logical brain trying to shove them into a cage. So while he felt more extreme lows, he could also feel these highs. 

“I … I want to show you just what you mean to me.” Greg uttered.   
“I believe I would enjoy that.” Mycroft responded, his voice low and hushed. 

Mycroft’s heart pounded in his chest, and he suddenly became aware of the crowds around him. The conversations from the tables around him seemed to get louder and close in over him. He tried to just focus on Gregory, the man sitting across from him. He knew what he was suggesting, and he wanted it badly. He dreamt of it, daydreamed of getting closer… he’d told himself that he was ready and willing to wait until Gregory was ready. He knew that Gregory would ‘make the move’ so to speak once he was, he was rather open about those kinds of things. And so, he didn’t know why he was freaking out now. He desperately wanted it but it scared him. Despite what people thought, sex was not something he was well acquainted with. 

“I… I feel compelled to point out that I am not as … veracious… as you may have potentially heard.”   
“Myc, I know you don't have a whole lot of experience. And that’s ok. In fact, it’s a bit… exciting.” Greg said, reassuring and a bit teasing. 

Mycroft again didn’t know what to say. He was glad that Gregory was aware but at the same time a bit thrown that people didn’t actually think he knew what he was doing in that regard. 

Mycroft’s phone rang. He immediately pulled it out to see that Anthea was calling him. She knew he was on a date with Gregory, and so whatever it was must be urgent.   
“I’m so sorry dear, but I must take this.”

Greg nodded and watched as Mycroft stood and left the table. As much as he knew Mycroft was important, and that it was likely urgent, he really wanted to break that phone. He took a breath, and continued to eat his food. It didn’t really bother him too much. He knew what it was like to be the one cancelling plans because of sudden phone calls. He guessed that it was one of the things that Mycroft appreciated about him - they both could understand the need to put work first sometimes. Not everyone understood that, and it would only lead to problems. 

It wasn’t long before Mycroft was back, but something had changed. He looked stressed, even worried. Greg knew he couldn’t talk about it, and so didn’t ask. Mycroft took his seat and didn’t even bother to return to their previous conversation. Now Greg knew something was up. 

“You ok, Myc?”  
“Yes, fine.” Mycroft responded in that usual tone that Greg had learnt to mean ‘no, but I’m not going to talk about it until you push harder’. A wiser man might have ended their interpretation at ‘I’m not going to talk about it’, but not Greg.

Greg watched as Mycroft just flicked at his salad. He’d lost all interest in eating. Greg, having mostly finished, put his cutlery down.   
“Come on, let’s go. I know you’re not alright, and I think it’s best we just sit down at home, ok?"   
Mycroft nodded. Greg started to get worried himself, since it Mycroft rarely _ever_ just accepted being told what to do. 

Once home, Mycroft wandered into his room as if he wasn’t really aware of what as happening.   
“I’ll just be out here.” Greg called after him. He quickly changed into something more suitable for cuddling on the couch. 

Mycroft leant against the door in his room. Sherlock was missing. It wasn’t like he’d known the exact location of his brother at all times, but there was no word where he was. He was supposed to check in with an agent a few hours ago, but never did. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

He removed his suit carefully and changed into some comfortable clothes. He sighed. He had to keep it hidden from Gregory… but he so desperately wanted that man to just hold him and tell him it would all be ok. That Sherlock was just being Sherlock, and that nothing horrible had happened. That he’d get word of him again soon. But he couldn’t. He had to keep pretending his brother was dead. And he felt like he didn’t deserve any comfort from Gregory regarding anything to do with his continued deception. 

He walked out of his room anyway, and found Gregory on the couch waiting for him. The man patted the couch beside him. Mycroft couldn't help but do anything other than join him.   
“It’s alright, Myc. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” 

Those were the words that broke him. Gregory didn’t care what it was that was upsetting him, didn’t need to know the details before giving affection. Mycroft held him and let a few tears fall. He felt Gregory’s strong hands stroke down his arm. 

“It’ll be ok.” Greg soothed.   
“It’s my fault.” Mycroft uttered.   
“I don’t know if it is or not, but it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes things just go wrong, love.” 

Mycroft gripped tighter. His heart jumped at hearing the endearment, but plummeted back down when thinking of the guilt. He was here getting comforted for something that caused so much pain to both Gregory and John. He hated himself, but he didn’t let go. 

They sat there for a while, and Mycroft regained his composure. He sat up and kissed Gregory passionately.   
“Hehehe, what was that for?” Greg giggled.   
“For being you.” Mycroft responded. He honestly felt so much for this kind, caring man that somehow cared in turn for him.   
“Well, in that case…” Greg said, and kissed Mycroft back, just as passionately. “For being you.” 

“Since I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know how to make it better. So how about I give you something nicer to think about instead?” Greg asked seductively. He didn’t want to force Mycroft into keeping their silent agreement from the restaurant if he didn’t feel like it anymore, but he thought he’d ask if he was still interested anyway. 

“I … I don’t feel like I deserve it, Gregory.” Mycroft said, feeling disappointed.   
“Nonsense. When it comes to things I want to share with you, I can tell you that you are definitely deserving of them.” Greg said, and kissed him again.   
“Hmmn…” Mycroft hummed into the kiss, and unconsciously ran his fingers up Gregory’s thigh. He somehow found that his worries took a back seat and he became lost in the moment. Gregory took up his entire being, and all he wanted was to experience more. He didn’t even feel guilty anymore… he just felt _want_. 

Greg broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Mycroft’s, panting gently.   
“There’s only one thing that matters, Myc.”  
“Hm?”  
“Do you want this?”  
“….Yes.” Mycroft breathed.   
“Well I do too. And I won’t ever make you do something you’re uncomfortable with.” Greg said, giving a brief kiss on Mycroft’s lips.   
“Neither would I, dear.” 

“So, do you want to continue this in the bedroom?” Greg breathed.   
“Yes.” 


	19. Guilt

Mycroft lay in bed, Gregory snuggled up behind him with his arm wrapped around his waist. He couldn’t sleep. His partner had fallen asleep some time ago, and was now softly snoring. Mycroft rather liked it - it was a constant reminder of Gregory’s presence. 

Mycroft’s mind wouldn’t slow down. All the thoughts that had magically disappeared hours ago, while he made love with Gregory, were now plaguing him. Worry over Sherlock, guilt over concealing it, panic over what could happen to his brother, and over how Gregory would react to him once he found out. He hated himself for the passing thought that Sherlock would die before his mission was complete, and thus prevent the inevitable hatred that would be thrown his way. He loved Gregory with all of his being, and knew that once the detective decided to have nothing to do with him, he wouldn’t be the same ever again. 

Mycroft sighed gently and shifted his hand so it rested over Gregory’s.   
_Oh my dear, I will miss you terribly._

Mycroft felt resigned to the idea that he would be abandoned for his subterfuge with Sherlock. The first time in his life he found something he cared about, that wasn’t his brother, and it would be taken from him once Sherlock returned. He didn’t like feeling as if he could only ever have one of them in his life.   
_Is it wrong to allow things to continue as they are? Am I being horrible to Gregory by taking his love and cherishing it knowing what’s to come?_

He shook his head softly, annoyed at the thought. He didn’t even know if Sherlock was going to survive. And then another fear descended upon him: grieving for his brother’s loss in secret. He didn't know if he could manage that. He was supposed to have lost Sherlock months ago… he couldn’t suddenly experience that grief plausibly. Gregory would be able to tell… and he’d be left with the choice of either telling him everything, or covering himself with more lies. Neither option was particularly appealing. 

He’d been forced to lie to those closest to him ever since he was a boy. He never liked it, but he was the one that had to protect others. He always knew he was the one to suffer for the sake of others; he’d given up plenty to take care of Sherlock properly. Sometimes he felt spiteful towards his uncle for making him the secret keeper at such a young age. Sometimes he wondered what his life would be if he hadn’t been the protector. But thinking those things just made him sad… and so he tried to avoid it. 

_It is what it is._

Something he’d told Sherlock many times over the years. He tried to tell himself those words now, but they rang hollow. It didn’t help him any. Sherlock being missing, perhaps dead in some god forsaken land, is what it was and accepting it didn’t change his feelings.   
_Caring is not an advantage._

He’d never felt so conflicted about that before in his life. He was there, basking in the glow of a wonderful evening with the man he loved, feeling like his entire world was complete just for having Gregory in it. All the while thinking that worrying about his little brother would do nothing to help the predicament, perhaps even hinder it. It was true that there was nothing more he could do to find him: he’d ordered as much of a search as possible.

Suddenly images of Sherlock flooded his mind. Memories he tried not to think about. His baby brother, motionless in an abandoned building, having overdosed on drugs. Mycroft had taken care of him beyond his years, and even managed to get Sherlock to promise to make a list. He could still hear his own screams from when he found him. He could still feel the nausea when the doctors told him Sherlock might not pull through. He remembered holding that little hand in his - not really that little, but he’d seen the little boy he’d helped raise laying there before him - and whispering for him to be ok. He remembered the deathly silence that followed him asking if it was a suicide attempt. But most of all, he remembered his promise.   
_I will always be there for you. I will always find you._

Mycroft couldn’t help the tears fall. He’d let Sherlock down. He wasn’t finding him. He’d chosen comfort and logic over irrational dedication that he’d promised. He knew he shouldn’t, but he felt just terrible for breaking that vow. 

“Myc, I think you really need to talk about it.” Gregory mumbled. 

He hadn’t realised he’d woken Gregory. He hadn’t noticed the soft whimpers he was making, or the gentle rocking of his body. 

“I… I can’t.” Mycroft sniffled.   
“Here, look at me.” 

Mycroft shuffled and twisted in the bed to lay facing Gregory. The man petted his cheek softly.   
“You can’t tell me the details, I understand that. But it’s clearly bothering you quite a lot… so you can tell me your feelings, and maybe some vague indication of what it’s all about.”

Mycroft considered it for a moment. The detective was right, he _was_ free to say that much. And he really didn’t feel strong enough to deny the comfort. He sighed and sat upright, turning on the lamp beside the bed. Gregory looked at him with shining eyes, innocently waiting to hear what was bothering him. The guilt stabbed him again. 

“There’s someone I have entrusted on a mission… someone that is important… and they’ve gone missing.”  
“Ok.”  
“… It was my fault that they had to do the mission in the first place. If anything happens to them, it’s on me.”  
“I’m sure they knew what they were getting into, Myc. You have a habit of taking on responsibility and burden that isn’t yours to bear.”  
“You are right, of course, but I’m afraid that this time I am squarely responsible for the situation.”

Greg nodded gently and then stroked Mycroft’s arm. Without more information, he couldn’t argue against Mycroft’s sense of accountability. So he just accepted it, and did what he could to support his love in the aftermath. 

“I’m sure you’re doing all that you can for them.”  
“I know that I am, but I feel like I’m letting them down by not trying more.”  
“Mycroft, you should know that sometimes you simply can’t do more.” 

Mycroft nodded. Greg smiled sadly. 

“What do you feel right now?”  
“… Guilt. So much guilt. Fear over what’s going to happen. I hate myself for causing all of this. I am very worried about the wellbeing of this person, but frustrated that I can’t do anything about it. I hate that I have to keep it all a secret.”  
“That’s good.”  
“Good? What?”  
“I mean, those are normal feelings to have about something like this, and it’s good that you’ve actually opened up to me about them.”   
“I… I suppose.” 

“Look, Myc, I can’t do anything to help the situation. All I can do is be here for you, day or night, for anything. You don’t even have to explain why you want or need something. I’ll be there, ok? You’re not alone through this anymore.” 

Gregory’s words wrapped around Mycroft’s chest and squeezed tightly like a hug. He felt more cared for than he could remember. He started to cry again, not even caring that Gregory saw his tears. He felt himself being pulled into a hug and stroked softly.  
“I’m sorry everything is so emotional all the time.” Mycroft mumbled. It was true… first it was Gregory suffering; and just as he was starting to do better… this happens. 

“We can’t help that, Myc. I’m just glad we can be together and get through it.”  
“I’m still sorry. You shouldn’t have to care for me.”  
“I want to. It makes me feel like you care enough about me to trust me that much.”  
“Well, I do indeed. But that doesn’t change the unfortunate situation.”  
“It’s ok, love. It is what it is. All we can do is be there for each other.” 

Mycroft stilled at hearing Gregory tell him those words. Somehow, instead of being hollow like when he told it to himself, he felt … understood, and loved. 


	20. One Year

It had been a year since Sherlock’s suicide. Mycroft had agreed to go visit Sherlock’s grave with Gregory and John. He noticed how Gregory was deflated since waking up. Mycroft had taken the day off, a rare occasion, to spend with his partner. He knew it would be a potentially challenging day for him. They'd gone out to the manor the night previously. Mycroft had taken Gregory there a couple of times before, but it was far enough away from both of their jobs that it remained more of a ‘holiday’ place. For someone with a normal 9-5 job it wouldn’t be that far. But with Greg pulling overtime constantly to get Sherlock’s name cleared, and Mycroft needing to be on call most of the time, they had found it more convenient to just stay at Mycroft’s work flat. 

Greg had been thinking that he didn’t really have use for his flat anymore. He’d taken his possessions out of it, aside from the furniture. He didn’t want to broach the subject with Mycroft about living together, because he was afraid of scaring him off. But it surely must have passed the British Government’s mind that they basically did live together. It seemed a waste to continue paying rent somewhere that he wasn’t even visiting, let alone living. 

The car ride to the cemetery was quiet. Mycroft was unsure what to say. He knew he had to pretend more than normal that his brother was deceased. It had been easier once Sherlock had been found again, but still one of the most difficult things he’s had to do. Because of caring. He still thought that caring was not _always_ and advantage, such as regarding his work and the unfortunate business with Sherlock; but he definitely felt it was an advantage in other respects. He’d never felt so … complete. 

He squeezed Gregory's hand gently.   
“You’re thinking about something important - care to share, my dear?” Mycroft asked, noting the small expressions flashing across the detective’s face.   
“Oh, um… ok, I wasn’t going to bring it up like this but I was thinking that I haven’t been back to my flat in a long time, but I don’t want to go back there, and so I was thinking since I am already spending most of my time with you at-“  
“I would be honoured, Gregory.”   
“…yours…you, you would? But I haven’t even asked yet.”  
“I would very much like you to move in with me. And no, I don’t think it’s too soon, and I agree that you have essentially been living with me for some time.”   
“I… great, great.” 

Greg was a little surprised that he didn’t need to convince Mycroft more, but was happy none the less.   
_Happy_.

It was strange to think that he legitimately did feel happy sometimes. He couldn’t deny the depression still gnawed at him and left him feeling so down and empty he thought about suicide still… but it was still just an annoying intruding thought, during a down moment. It wasn’t always like that. And that was the biggest change he’d had in his life for a very long time. Even though he couldn’t shake the sadness in his gut at visiting Sherlock’s grave, he was still happy enough to have Mycroft there with him. 

The men exited the car at the entrance to the cemetery, where they saw John and Mary.   
“Oh, I guess John brought Mary. You haven’t met her yet, right?”  
“I have not had the opportunity, no.”   
“Well, I don’t blame John for keeping to himself a lot more since meeting her. It’s good that she’s helping him cope and move on.” Greg said, trying to ignore the sadness that plucked his chest at remembering how absent John had been in his life over the past few months. He was honest that he was happy for him to be able to move on, but still didn’t like being left behind so much. 

“John! Mary! Hello.” Greg greeted with a semi-forced smile.   
“Hey, Greg.” John said, returning the same smile.   
“Good to see you, Greg.” Mary spoke cheerily, obviously not weighed down by the same baggage as the others.   
“And you. Ah… I see you brought some flowers. He would have liked that.”   
“Oh, no he wouldn’t have, John’s told me enough about him to know that. But, it’s convention so he can suck it up.” 

The smiles faded from both John and Greg. Mary obviously meant no offence, and was just trying to lighten the mood, but it was still a difficult time for both men. Quickly changing topics, Greg introduced Mycroft.

“Mary, this is my partner Mycroft.” 

She smiled and held out her hand.  
“Nice to meet you.” 

Mycroft looked hesitant. Greg could tell he was observing her, but not saying anything out loud in case of offending. But there was some uncertainty written across his face that made Greg a little unsettled. 

“Pleasure.” Mycroft eventually said, taking her hand. 

Greg looked at John during the awkward moment, who gave an indication that he didn’t know what was going on either. Greg shrugged it off as Mycroft being unsure how to meet people in a casual setting - one where he wasn’t automatically in control. 

The four of them stood in front of the black tombstone. Mary placed the flowers on the ground and spoke first.   
“You don’t know me but I want to thank you for taking care of John. He needed you. You made him who he is now and I am grateful.”

John enveloped her into a hug. He’d stood in front of Sherlock’s grave many times, just talking. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but it did help him. He’d spoken about Mary a few times, and in a strange way, he was glad that he could ‘introduce’ her, as it were. John didn’t feel ready to talk yet, and neither did Greg. And so they both looked to Mycroft.

“Brother mine, I miss you. The task of continuing my life without you here with me is one I regret having to do. I hope that one day soon, that pain will ease. You were always the exception to my rule, and I still do care about you greatly.” 

Mycroft chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to lie in his heartfelt moment. Gregory had made him not want to lie as fervently. He let his eyes flicker over to Mary. There was something about her that was off. She was obviously lying, but most people lie about one thing or another… it likely didn’t have to do with her words to Sherlock. He shifted over to her. 

“Perhaps you and I can give these two a moment?” He uttered gently. She smiled and nodded up at him. 

They took a slow stroll away until they weren’t in earshot of Greg and John. The two men stood in awkward silence for a moment. 

“What are we even supposed to say?” Greg asked rhetorically.   
“It’s been a year. So much has happened that I never expected. I normally talk to him about my life.”  


Greg hadn’t visited the grave very often. He hadn’t spoken about anything really - he never felt comfortable talking to the dead. He’d just stood there thinking to himself.   
“Um, ok… well, I guess I could start by saying I’m dating your brother.” 

John giggled. Greg looked at him questioningly.  
“If that’s not a reason for him to rise from the dead, I don’t know what is.” 

Greg’s demeanour relaxed at John’s humour. He was glad that the man was in a place to do that again. But he felt that overwhelming sadness of missing Sherlock as he looked at the grave. It was the three of them again, for the first time in over a year.   
“Just the three of us again.” Greg muttered, but John remained silent. 

“Sherlock, when you left, I was lost. I know you never really considered people’s feelings, but I know you cared about us. I’ve had to stop asking why you did it. Because there’s never any answer that makes it seem worth it. I wish I could have been there to help. I’m sorry for the part I played in your demise. 

“Having some … experience… in this matter, I know that things mustn’t have been alright for some time. And I knew you, you’d never admit that to anyone. I used to be like that. Always keeping my feelings and problems to myself, never letting them out… waiting to be asked before feeling like I had permission to talk about them.

“But then all this happened and … I changed. Eventually. And now things are looking up for me. I’m happy with Mycroft, even if I don’t know if you’d have approved of that. And even though I still feel shit sometimes, I am able to express it freely. And er… I guess that’s thanks to you. So, really… thank you, Sherlock. You helped me one last time.” 

Greg had tears in his eyes by the time he was done. John had been right - it was liberating to say these things. He sniffled, and felt John’s hand rub against his back for a moment.   
“Thanks mate.” Greg uttered while sniffling back his tears.   
“That was good. Good on you.” John said supportively. 

John tensed a little. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings around other people while here. But, he reminded himself that it was Greg, and he trusted Greg. He had been open about things with Greg. 

“Hey, Sherlock. Me again. I hope you’re alright, wherever you are. I know Mary thanked you for taking care of me, and said I needed you… and she’s right, you know. God I needed you. I never realised how much until you were gone. And I have spent so long thinking that you needed me too… in a way that I wasn’t there for you. Sure I helped you with many things, but it seems not in the way it mattered. But, I have to just let go of that now… I can’t help it anymore. But I can be there for Mary like that, and I am doing my best to be there for Greg like that too. And things have been better for it, so … thanks. 

“I just wanted to say that… I won’t forget you. Even though I’m moving on with Mary and having a more normal life, you changed me for the better and I will never, ever be able to forget you, Sherlock Holmes. I wouldn’t be having this life now, or maybe even be here at all, if it weren’t for you all that time ago. You saved me. I hope you are happy that I can live this life you gave me a chance at." 

Greg nodded at him supportingly. They turned around to see where their partners were, and began walking over. Even from a distance, they seemed deep in conversation that apparently they didn’t want people to overhear. 

Mycroft had followed his instinct and ran through his mind trying to place what was off about Mary. After a rather long silence, in which Mary had asked multiple times if he was alright, it struck him. A.G.R.A. She was one of the members of A.G.R.A. He’d panicked, thinking that someone had ordered the hit of John and Greg. He had tried to stand between her and the men at the grave, and then gave her a stern look. She was indeed a good liar. 

After a sharp conversation, Mycroft had determined that she was truthful in her pleas of innocence. Everyone thought that all members of A.G.R.A were dead, and so to find one standing before him was a rather large shock to Mycroft. 

“You can’t tell him.” Mary said forcefully. 

Mycroft was angry. Yet another secret he had to keep from someone close to him. At least it wasn’t regarding Gregory. 

“Very well, but be assured that I will swiftly remove you should I find any threat to John or Gregory from your behalf.”   
“And you be assured, Mr Holmes, that I will not let any harm come to John. If my past catches up with me, I’ll leave. I won’t put him in danger.” 

Mycroft nodded at her. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing to have someone as skilled as her around protecting John. The man was rather attracted to danger.   
“John may be under more threats than just from your past.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“In associating with my brother, he has made some enemies. Enemies that I hope I can entrust you to protect him from?”  
“Of course. I will keep myself sharp.” 

Before they could say much more, John and Gregory were approaching. They gave each other a brief nod of understanding, and returned to their partners. Whatever they’d said was clearly emotionally taxing, as both looked drained. They still smiled, though. 

Greg opened his arms out and embraced Mycroft in a tight hug. Mycroft was a bit uncertain to begin with, his eyes darting about to see if anyone was looking, before returning the hug.   
“Good talk?” Mycroft asked.   
“Yeah. Good. Now, shall we go get something for lunch?” Greg offered cheerfully. 


	21. Anderson's Evidence

Greg felt strange watching all the footage of Sherlock. It was like looking into the past and spying on his friend. In one way, he was glad that the man spent so much of his time sitting about the house where Mycroft had eyes on him. It meant it was easy to clear him of many of the crimes he’d helped on. In another way, he found it a bit sad that he didn’t get out more. 

He also felt like he was intruding on Sherlock and John’s personal life. Greg had been upfront with John about having to watch the footage, and that the footage existed. John had been angry for a brief moment - not at Greg for needing to watch, but at Mycroft - but resolved that he was in fact grateful (now) that Sherlock’s ‘Big Brother’ had the footage at all if it helped clear the detective’s name. 

Anderson had been helping a lot with getting the evidence for Greg. However, the exposure to Sherlock’s life and the realisation that he was in actual fact a crime _solving_ genius, was having an effect on him. Anderson had gotten even more reclusive. He’d stopped shaving, changed his attire again - now with large jumpers similar to John, and was even more jittery. Greg was concerned, but said nothing. He just kept an eye on him fairly closely. 

So, when Anderson shuffled into his office looking anxious, Greg gave him his full attention.   
“Hey, Anderson, what’s up?” He asked, trying to sound casual. The man flicked his gaze up to meet Greg, but then returned them to the floor.   
“Lestrade, I… I wanna say something.”   
“Well, I’m all ears.”   
“Just… it’s gonna sound… crazy.” 

Greg furrowed his brows for a moment before returning the smile. He wasn’t sure what Anderson was about to say, but he hoped it wasn’t legitimately ‘crazy’. His change in behaviour over the last year, especially the last month, could be indicative of some mental issues. Different to his, of course. He wasn’t one to judge, after all, considering. 

“I… I think Sherlock is alive.” 

Greg froze. He made a strangled noise.   
“I’m … I’m sorry?”  
“Sherlock. I… I think he’s faked it.”   
“Anderson…”  
“No, listen to me. It makes sense.” 

Greg stood and walked to be in front of him, and held his shoulders firmly while he spoke.  
“Sherlock’s gone, Phillip. As much as we might want otherwise, he really is gone.”   
“But… I’ve been looking over things, and and and… it’s not just me! I mean, sure, the others don’t know what I know…”  
“I think you’ve been working a bit hard on all of this, yeah?”  
“No, I’m not crazy! Please, just… just hear me out.” 

Greg could tell Anderson was getting agitated, and so nodded to him. He indicated for the man to take a seat while he returned to his desk.   
“Alright, tell me.” 

Anderson pulled the chair closer to the desk so that he could speak in a hushed tone.   
“Well, the more I looked into these cases with you, the more I saw that he … he really was a genius. And I mean, if he was that smart, I’m sure he could fake it.”  
“Yeah but him being able to doesn’t explain why he would, Anderson. What happened to him with the press and us does though.”   
“Yeah, I know, don’t remind me. But you see… the thing is, it just seemed off. I mean, did you ever stop and wonder why Molly Hooper did the autopsy?”

Greg thought for a moment. He’d known that Molly had done it, but he’d never really paid that much thought to it before. Everything was rather overwhelming at the time and so the information just got lost in the background. 

“I agree it’s a little strange, but I mean… probably Molly was the one that ID’d the body, and signed off on the paperwork. I don’t think she would have been able to actually do the autopsy.”   
“I dunno, Lestrade. But that’s not all. All this work we’ve been doing with the cameras on him got me thinking - St Bart’s has plenty of cameras all over it. The buildings around it had cameras on the street. So I went looking for the footage.”  
“Why would you do that? I … I wouldn’t be able to watch that.”   
“I didn’t want to, but I had to. I knew something wasn’t right and so needed to find proof that he did or didn’t. The camera never lies right? Well… it might not lie, but it can stay silent.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“The footage… it’s all gone.”

Greg froze, his interest piqued. It was definitely strange that _all_ of the cameras have no footage of the events.   
“It was a while ago… standard deletion?”  
“No, there’s footage older than that still around. It’s like someone’s gone and deleted it all. That exact moment, from every camera I could think of.”

Anderson seemed to relax a little once Greg’s face showed he was considering the possibility. 

“Mycroft.” Greg uttered. Anderson was confused. “Mycroft probably deleted it. Sherlock’s older brother. Don’t ask me how he can do that, I can’t say.”  
“You’re dating Sherlock’s brother?”  


Greg snapped his attention fiercely back onto Anderson. He shied away.   
“I’m… I’m not judging, I mean… I knew you were involved with a bloke called Mycroft, but I just didn’t know he was related to Sherlock…” Anderson reasoned quickly. Greg’s expression softened. 

“It’s reasonable to say Mycroft was involved in the loss of footage. It’s not reason to assume Sherlock faked it.”   
“I know, but … it’s a combination of things. Molly, the footage, the fact that his parents never attended the funeral…”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Why wouldn’t they attend their son’s funeral? Unless they knew he was alive.”  
“They could have been just too traumatised.” Greg reasoned. There seemed to be a logical explanation to all of Anderson’s evidence, but there was still that small shard of hope in his heart that wanted to believe him. 

“And on top of all of that… I’ve been looking into reports from across Europe, and beyond even. There’s been a new hitman out there, but he’s been targeting people with known criminal associations. We were sent some information about it all, and regular updates…”  
“That’s not your department, Anderson…” Greg reminded.   
“I hear things. But it’s relevant! See, there’s someone going out there taking out criminals and not leaving a shred of evidence. No one could figure it out. But I know Sherlock could work it out, and thus he could know what to do so that no one else could.”  
“… So now you’re back to saying Sherlock Holmes is putting bodies out there to find?”  
“Well, yeah… but these are just criminals! I think it’s Moriarty’s people. I mean, he’d have to get rid of them somehow. Moriarty was on the roof too, after all. What if Sherlock hadn’t killed him? What if it really _was_ suicide on Moriarty's behalf?”  
“I have always believed that Moriarty killed himself, Anderson.” Greg interjected flatly.   
“Oh… well, good. But it’s all these little things, see?”  


Greg sighed. He admitted that it was plausible in the way Anderson had presented the information, but it all had another explanation. And there was one thing that Anderson had left out.   
“Alright, Anderson. If we assume that all these things do indicate to Sherlock faking it, then how did he do it? You forget that John was there and saw it happen. You can’t fake something like that.” 

Anderson looked stumped. His face screwed up in concentration.   
“‘Forgot about John.” He mumbled. “I’ll have to think about it more.”   
“Why don’t you have a break for a little while? I’m worried that all this work about Sherlock has gotten to you.”  
“I’m fine.” Anderson grumbled.   
“No, Phil, I don’t think you are. But that’s ok. I’m not fine either, but we get by. Take a few days, get some rest, and then I’ll see you back helping me finish off all this, yeah?”   
“I don’t -“  
“Anderson, I will force you if I have to. Just… take a break, ok? I’m not angry or thinking you’ve lost it… I think you’re just a bit confronted by all of this. So, I’m asking you to take the rest of the week off, and then we’ll see how things go on Monday, alright?”  
“Fine.”   
“And you have my number, call me if you need to talk or anything.” 

Anderson wanted to retort, but kept his mouth shut. He so wanted his boss to believe him, but he supposed this wasn’t the worst outcome. And he didn’t want to reject the help offered to him when he still felt guilty about not giving support himself. 

“Alright. But… do think about it, Lestrade.” 


	22. New Experiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut. I've tried to make it not too graphic or crude, but it's still sexy times. 
> 
> Fair warning. 
> 
> If you don't want to read, it's not entirely essential to the plot. Just that yes, Mycroft did delete the CCTV footage.

Greg lay with his head on Mycroft’s bare chest. Mycroft was softly stroking down Greg’s arm as he held him loosely. They had just caught their breaths, basking in the afterglow of some intense and passionate sex. Mycroft had all but moved to sleeping in bed with Greg each night, and they usually wound up doing something frivolous each time. Neither of them complained, however. They were both rather happy with the arrangement. Greg hadn’t been this sexually active in a long time, and hadn’t had experience with a man in even longer, and so was revelling in the enjoyment of it. Mycroft felt vulnerable in sharing so much of himself, but closer to his partner than he ever thought possible in doing so.

“Myc?”  
“Yes dear?”  
“Did you erase all of the footage of Sherlock’s fall?”

Mycroft shifted in bed to look down at Gregory better. 

“Why do you ask?”  
“Just… something Anderson said to me a couple of days ago. It’s been in my head since then. He couldn’t find any footage of it - it had been deleted.”  
“Why on earth was he looking for that?”  
“Just … investigating. Looking for evidence and such.” Greg said, and hoped that Mycroft couldn’t tell he was omitting certain truths. “He’s helping me clear Sherlock’s name, I told you that ages ago.”  
“Yes, I am aware, I did not forget. But as that particular footage does not help prove his innocence I was surprised he looked for it.”  
“So, you did delete it?”  
“Yes.” 

Mycroft hadn’t lied yet, but he wondered if Gregory was aware of the increase of his heartbeat. 

“Why?”  
“Because… I didn’t want anyone seeing it.” _Still not a lie.  
_ “I understand that, but it seems like an awful thing to have to see over and over to go through and delete it.”  
“I didn’t do it myself, I had people search and remove it for me.” _Also not a lie_.   
“Yeah, makes sense. I guess it would be hard to think of people seeing that.”  
“Yes.” _Because it would ruin my subterfuge._

“Are you alright? You seem to be stressed.” Greg said, noticing how tense Mycroft had gotten, and how his heart pounded beneath his ear.   
“Fine.”   
“I’m not stupid, Myc.”   
“I… I just miss him, is all. Talking about him is difficult for me.” _Because of hiding it from you.  
_ “I’m sorry.” Greg mumbled, and moved up to kiss Mycroft gently. Mycroft wanted to know what it was that Anderson had said, and why they were looking into the evidence of Sherlock’s death. Were they suspecting? Was Gregory testing him?

“Myc, you’re not fine. I can feel you hyperventilating.”  
“Just… thoughts.” Mycroft muttered truthfully.   
“Do you have anything to help? I can go get it for you.” Greg asked. Mycroft shook his head.   
“Ok, well try just breathe along with me. I’ve got you, ok? But I do think you should see a doctor about this and get some valium or something to help in these moments. They seem to happen often enough to warrant it.” 

Mycroft just nodded as he held onto Gregory tightly. He had to admit that it was getting a lot more difficult to control his anxiety while he was letting himself feel the happiness and pleasure of his relationship. It seemed to be more of an ‘all or none’ situation when it came to emotions. 

“Talk to me.” Mycroft said after some time of silence, where his emotions weren’t settling down.  
“Like, dirty? Ok, um… I love the way your bum-“   
“No, just … any kind of talk. I need to focus on something else.”   
“Well, dirty talk would lead into something distracting…” Greg said with a smile.   
“Gregory, I am not a teenager anymore, and neither are you. I am not sure I am capable of engaging in such activities so soon.” 

Greg chuckled. He was right, they weren’t teenagers anymore. But the excitement of it all had left Greg feeling a lot more youthful - especially sexually - than he had in years. But even if it wasn’t leading to another round of sex, the conversation was distracting Mycroft.   


“Aw, I don’t know Myc, you can make me pretty hard often enough.”   


Mycroft flushed red, and Greg could feel his muscles twitching.   
“I … I don’t know how.” Mycroft uttered shamefully, obviously self conscious again.   
“Easy… with that sexy smile of yours…” Greg said playfully, leaning in for another kiss.   
“And those lovely eyes… the way you giggle when I nibble your ear…”   
“I do not giggle.” Mycroft stated, his voice betraying him. Greg decided to prove him wrong, and took Mycroft’s right lobe in his mouth, eliciting a strangled giggle from the British Government. 

“Ergh, you’re like a dog with a bone, sometimes Gregory.”   
“I’m not going to deny that.” Greg said seductively, pressing his half-hard crotch into Mycroft’s thigh. 

The man’s eyebrows flew up at the sensation, and he felt himself reacting.   
“That is … surprising. You have indeed proven me wrong, my dear.”   
“Hmmmm.” Greg hummed, running his hand down Mycroft’s chest. 

“I would like to postulate that you also are in the same predicament.” Greg said in a serious tone, mocking Mycroft, who was not oblivious to the fact.  
“My language is appropriate for all situations, Gregory.”  
“I don’t know, I think something a little more crass would be appropriate…” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s ear, and slid his hand down under the sheets to grasp Mycroft’s cock.   
“I would love to hear you swear as you come inside of me.” Greg uttered, his breath hot in Mycroft’s ear. The man gulped, and Greg could feel the reaction his words had gotten with his hand. 

“You were supposed to calm my breathing, Gregory.” Mycroft panted.   
“Oh well. I guess I just changed the situation to make it more appropriate.” Greg stated, and slid himself across Mycroft’s body, relishing in the feel of his hot skin sliding over his own.   
“Gah…” Mycroft exhaled as Greg’s cock ground against his own. He was definitely hard again, much to his surprise. Greg gave him a seductive look.   
“I'm ready to take this step, if you are.” 

Mycroft’s body felt like it was on fire. He wanted to, he really did. He’d just never… experienced that before. He’d read up on how it was supposed to work, but that never really took the place of actual experience. 

“I want to, Gregory, I do… but I must say I haven’t done it before.”  
“That’s ok, I’ll help you learn.” Greg said, happily kissing him. He was looking forward to riding the man until he screamed, and it being a first for Mycroft just made it all the more special. “And soon, you’ll be experienced enough to take control of it. I know how much you want to.”   
“I don’t…always…”   
“Oh? I would have thought you’d gotten off at being dominating over me.” 

Mycroft went red again. He did of course enjoy control, and the use of that word sent shivers down his body.   
“I do, but… being, erm… _dominated_ … excites me.”   
Greg swallowed hard as his cock pulsed beneath him.   
“Is… is that so?”   
“Yes.” Mycroft breathed. “It’s so different to normal, so… putting my trust in someone else, something I never get to do …”  
“Shh… it’s ok, Myc, you don’t have to explain why you like it a certain way. If it turns you on, it does, and I’m more than happy to indulge in such fantasies.” 

Greg bent down and licked Mycroft’s ear, hearing him audibly shudder.   
“In fact, if you’re up for it, I would like to maybe one day bring home some handcuffs from work.” 

Mycroft’s eyes went wide, and Greg could feel the response the thought got.   
“Or maybe I’ll get some nice fluffy leather ones instead…” Greg teased, running both hands down Mycroft’s chest as he straddled his hips. Mycroft seemed unable to talk, for once. 

“I could tie you up to the bed, mmmm… maybe even blindfold you.” 

Mycroft’s hips bucked up involuntarily.   
“Oh, you like that? Well, don’t think it has to be one way… perhaps one day you’ll walk in and find me like that, just waiting for the British Government to take me.” 

That also got a response, but Greg noted, not as much of one. It seemed Mycroft really did have a domination fetish - being dominated, that was. Greg was having fun exploring Mycroft’s sexual interests, since it was not something the man would openly talk about himself. 

“Or maybe I’ll just arrest you one day.”   
“What for?” Mycroft snapped, his focus broken.   
“For being too damn sexy.” Greg grinned, and Mycroft realised that Gregory hadn’t been serious.   
“Oh, I doubt that officer.” 

Greg felt tingles run down his spine and warmth pool in his gut at hearing Mycroft speak like that.   
“That’s what they all say… but I have ways of making people confess.” Greg grumbled seductively.   
“You’ll not be able to break me.”   
“Oh, Mr Holmes, I am sure I will have you on your knees _begging_ me for release.” 

Mycroft immediately groaned at the words, and slid his hands up to rest on Greg’s hips. Greg grinned, glad that Mycroft was enjoying the fantasy. But, he reminded himself, that he first needed to ease the man into anal sex first. 

“Well, before we can get there, I think we’ll focus on how you’re gonna fuck me right now.” Greg said gruffly, causing Mycroft to open his eyes and look at Greg with some concern.   
“Don’t worry love, we’ll go slow.”

Greg proceeded to talk about the mechanics of sex and what Mycroft needed to do to prepare him first, so that it was enjoyable for both. Greg feared that the information would cause either, or both, of them to lose interest - but was glad that wasn’t the case. If anything, learning how to go about it gave Mycroft more confidence and increased his interest. 

Mycroft was quick to learn, but rather uncertain. Greg gave him lots of encouragement and positive feedback, which seemed to help. After some time of fingering, Greg was ready. Mycroft tentatively pushed up inside him, gasping at the feeling. Greg moaned, having forgotten what it was like to feel so full. Mycroft was patient and let his partner adjust, just like he’d read, and allowed his fingers to run over Gregory’s skin and cock in the mean time. 

“Fuck, Myc…” Greg exclaimed. Mycroft hummed in agreement.  
“I want you to be in control of pace, dear.” Mycroft said. Greg nodded. He figured as much.   
“You feel so good… god, I had forgotten what this was like…”  
“I’m not hurting you?”  
“A little for now, but it’s more just discomfort cause I’ve been out of practice. Don’t worry so much love.” Greg said, petting Mycroft’s cheek gently. 

He slowly starting moving his body up and down along Mycroft’s length. Greg leant forward and placed both hands on Mycroft’s chest as he slid himself up and down.   
“Just tell me if you want to stop or if you’re hurting, ok?”  
“And you.” 

Greg smiled. Mycroft laid on the bed, trying to not thrust up into Gregory too soon. He was loving every movement Gregory made. It was so different to their previous encounters… more intimate. Not that he didn’t like what they’d done so far, but he did really love the feeling of Gregory around him. In his mind he imagined the man thrusting into him, facing him like they’d done before… he’d found having Gregory panting and grinding against him incredibly sexy, and adding the thought of being pounded by the man at the same time gave Mycroft tingles. 

“It’s ok, Myc, you can move too you know.” Greg panted, “Just let yourself do what you feel.”   
Mycroft nodded, and tightened his grip around Gregory’s hips and thrust upwards. He was met by an exquisite groan, causing him to do it again, and again, and again. Soon he was panting himself. He could feel the warmth pool in his gut, and his muscles tighten.   
“Greg…ory… I’m … close…” He breathed.    


Greg moaned an agreement, and then took himself in his hand. He pumped along his length quickly, wanting to ‘catch up’ as it were.   
“Don’t stop, Myc.” Greg uttered as Mycroft showed signs of slowing. Mycroft obliged, despite his muscles screaming in protest. 

Mycroft began to make noises with each thrust. He moved jerkily and uneven, and Greg knew he was approaching climax.   
“Mmmmn, that’s it love, come inside me.” Greg muttered seductively.   
“God…yes…” 

After a few more thrusts, Mycroft felt the rest of his body tense, his toes curl up, and his balls tighten. He then released himself into the condom while still inside Gregory, shouting out what might have been mistaken for profanity. He panted quickly to catch his breath as he felt himself pulse with immense pleasure. He’d not come that hard in a long time, longer than he could remember. 

Greg groaned as he felt Mycroft finish, and he pawed at himself quicker. Before long, he was definitely swearing while spilling out over Mycroft’s belly. He moaned happily in his release, and steadied himself as best he could with his clean hand. He smiled, sweat dripping off him, and moved down to kiss his partner. 

“That was… amazing.” Mycroft uttered.   
“Yeah… yeah it was.” Greg said. He knew it could get better, but that is was also a great first time. 


	23. Seeing an Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I'm trying to keep this all as canon as possible, and so have included parts of, and reference to things going on in, the prequel to season 3. I'm going to try avoid just typing out what the show has said since we've all already seen that! That's more relevant to Part III though.

John opened the door for Greg to enter.   
“Greg, come in.”  
“Hey, thanks.” 

Greg was holding a shoebox, and so they both wandered into the living room. Greg handed the box to John, who just placed it on the counter as they went to sit on the couches.   
“Yeah, It’s good to see you, Greg.” John commented.   
“And you.” Greg shook John’s hand.   
“Have a seat.”  
“So how’ve you been?” Greg asked, seating himself down in the single chair while John took the sofa.  
“Ah, yeah, good, yeah.” 

Greg raised his eyebrows briefly, asking if that was indeed actually true. John seemed to notice.  
“Much better.” He added. 

“So what’s in the, er…?” John asked, pointing to the white box.   
“Oh that, yeah, that’s um… that’s some stuff from my office, Sherlock’s actually…probably should have thrown it out, but, I didn’t know if…” Greg said carefully.  
“No, fine, yeah.” John said, smiling at him… but Greg could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Greg thought he’d try show it wasn’t anything bad.  
“There’s … there’s something here, um, I wasn’t sure whether I should have kept it in. You remember the video message he made for your birthday? Ah, I practically threatened him… this is the uncut version. It’s quite funny.” Greg said, taking the DVD out and handing it to John. 

“Oh, right.” John said, sounding surprised. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was, but he still wasn’t sure how he felt about watching something … new… from Sherlock. Greg could tell that he wasn’t entirely happy about it.   
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it.”   
“Don’t worry, it’s ok.” John all but interrupted him. Because it was, he did want to see it… he just couldn’t do it while Greg was around. It was going to be emotional.  
“‘Probably won’t even watch it.” John said, hopefully to avoid offending Greg in case he was expecting to sit and watch it with him. 

There was some uncomfortable silence as they both stared at the DVD. Greg then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.   
“If you don’t mind, I’d love a cup of tea.” Greg commented. John looked up, and saw there was something bothering Greg. He stood.  
“Oh, yeah, of course.” 

They went through their usual ritual of getting tea prepared. John poured it, slid Greg’s mug over to him, and looked at him while grabbing his own.  
“Table.” Greg stated, and John nodded knowingly. 

They sat in their usual places, and Greg sighed.   
“What is it mate?” John asked.   
“I’m exhausted. It’s been rather draining doing all this work to clear Sherlock’s name.”  
“I can imagine. Both physically and emotionally.”  
“Yeah. I know that I’d be in pretty poor shape if it weren’t for Mycroft.” Greg admitted.  
“I’m glad he’s helping you. Your meds going alright you think?” John asked. 

Greg shrugged his shoulders.  
“I guess.” 

It was difficult for him to tell, really, but it ultimately didn’t matter that much to him. He hadMycroft which made him happy and determined to stay alive for, and he had purpose in his work even if it was wearing him down.  
“Ok.” John said, wanting to say that he could prescribe different ones if Greg wanted, but didn’t want to force the issue. 

“So do you think you’re close to doing it?”  
Greg looked up at him confusedly. He then understood: John was asking about clearing Sherlock’s name, not suicide.  
“Yeah, actually. I’ve finally gotten to the point where all of the cases we worked on together are done. Evidence that Sherlock could not have committed the crimes for each one. Thank God for Mycroft’s footage, I mean that was a bloody life saver. It was very easy to have video of Sherlock sitting perfectly still for the hours around an incident… compared to the other times. Still, I’m glad it’s done now.”  
“What do you have left to do?”  
“Just need to dismantle all that Rich Brook crap. Prove that all that was lies.”

John looked sternly into his tea.   
“I’ll help however I can.” He said into the cup.  
“Thanks.” 

There was silence for a moment while they both just drank. John knew Greg had something else bothering him, but was patient and let Greg bring it up. 

“I did want to ask you about something though.” Greg said finally.   
“Hm?”  
“Anderson…”  
“Oh, what’s he done now?” John rolled his eyes.  
“Well… you know how I’ve been telling you how he’s been different for a while now?”  
“Yeah, didn’t really believe it but I guess you’ve convinced me.” John said, a little begrudgingly. He’d heard the ‘symptoms’ as such, but not the cause.  
“Well, a while ago he came to me saying that he believed Sherlock was still alive.”  
“What?” John asked incredibly, almost choking on his tea.  
“Yeah, had all these reasons for it - I mean if you put them together it made somewhat of a case, but each one had a more reasonable explanation.”

“… alright.” John wasn’t sure where this was going. Was Greg going to try convince him that Sherlock had faked it? Because he could say that he saw otherwise. 

“Well, I thought he was just stressed and overwhelmed with all the footage and stuff of Sherlock. I told him to take a few days off at first, but he never really stopped thinking it. It got in the way of his work, and he’s even started up a little club with people to work out how Sherlock faked it. He’s obsessing over it, John, and I’m concerned for him. He lost his job over it all. I said I’d talk to people for him, see what I can do, but still… I just met him at the pub and he’s started plotting out cases solved that he believes only Sherlock could have done on a map, saying he’s coming back. I don’t know what to do.” 

John let the information settle a little before he responded.   
“I agree it’s not healthy for him to obsess over something like that. I mean I myself didn’t believe it at first, but reality has to sink in. Sounds like he’s trying to cope with the guilt of it, after seeing undeniable proof that Sherlock wasn’t a fraud.”  
“What do I do about it though?”  
“I would say try and get him to see that it is just his way of trying to cope with guilt. He might come to terms with it and let it go and be able to move on. From what you’ve told me it sounds like he’s having a bit of a breakdown, and might need some professional help soon. But you can try that and see how he goes.”  
“I have, but he doesn’t seem to listen.”  
“Well… I don’t know what to suggest other than getting him to see a counsellor.”

John had initially found a sadistic pleasure in hearing Anderson not coping. He was glad beforehand when it was just him not being his usual arrogant self. But the changes over the last few months Greg had talked to him about were honestly concerning as a doctor. And now, the thing about Sherlock overruled his own spite and made him feel genuinely concerned. Perhaps that’s what moving on is? 

John felt like he needed to change the conversation topic to something happier.  
“Oh, I do have some news… I asked Mary to move in with me.”  
“Ah congrats, mate!” 

John smiled to himself.   
“Thanks. I’m happy.”  
“I’m glad, John. Really. After everything that’s gone on, you deserve it.”  
“So do you, Greg.” 

They sat there grinning stupidly while thinking of their respective relationships.  
“…So, she said yes or…?” Greg quipped, and John laughed and shoved his shoulder.  
“She should be back soon I think actually.”  
“Where’d she go?”  
“Just shopping for groceries." 

John collected both of their mugs and put them in the sink. They were both silent for a while - Greg thinking about Anderson, and John about the DVD. 

Mary arrived home, groceries in hand. She put them on the bench and gave John a quick kiss before saying hello to Greg.  
“Hey, thanks for the chat and tea, John. I better get going.”   
“You don’t have to leave on my account, Greg.” Mary said in earnest.   
“Nah, it’s not that, trust me. I just have some thing I gotta do before Mycroft gets back from work.”   
“But it’s Saturday.” Mary reminded him.   
“Yeah, well, Mycroft works every day just about.” John commented from behind her, putting some pasta in the cupboard.  
“That’s not healthy for him.” Mary said with a frown, passing John a tin of tomatoes. 

Greg felt happy that Mary seemed to be genuinely concerned for Mycroft, even though they’d only met a couple of times. John found someone truly caring and it was wonderful, especially given what he’d gone through with Sherlock. 

“Yeah, well, trying to tell him to stop working so hard is like telling…I dunno, what’s really hard to get to stop doing things?”  
“Kids to stop using their phones?” Mary offered, and they all snickered. “What? I was stuck behind these annoying kids in the store who wouldn’t get off their damned phones to see they were next.”  
“Yeah, works enough for me.” Greg said. “I’ll see you guys soon though, yeah?”  
“Yeah, see ya, Greg.” John said, moving to see him to the door. Greg waved his hand and said he was fine finding the door himself. He knew John was probably going to ask Mary for some alone time to watch the DVD… he could tell he was still thinking about it since Greg had given it to him.  
_Poor bloke._

After leaving, he wasn’t really sure what to do. He didn’t really have things to do before Mycroft got home, but he had started to feel uncomfortable intruding on John’s new domestic bliss. He checked his watch. Three hours. He could get a start on the Richard Brook files… or, he could bake Mycroft a cake. He remembered their conversation from the previous evening and suddenly felt the urge to spoil his partner. 

He smiled to himself and caught a cab to Tesco to get some ingredients. 

~ 

“Gregory, this is delicious. Thank you. I should not have eaten as much as I did… but how could I say no?” Mycroft said, beaming.   
“I’m glad you like it.” Greg said, finishing off his piece of chocolate cake.   
“Where did you learn to bake?”  
“Um, I didn’t really. I enjoy cooking, and so just kinda… expanded into baking. I still don’t really do baking much, I’m more of a main-meal kind of guy, but occasionally I like to spoil my special someone with a sweet treat.” Greg said, enjoying the attention he was getting from a very appreciative Mycroft. 

“I’m glad to hear things are progressing with John and Mary.”   
“Yeah, they seem happy.”   
“As they begin to build a more serious relationship, it is likely that they will drift apart from their friends. I just want you to be aware of it and not get upset if John doesn’t have as much time to spend with you, dear, as he has thus far.”   
“I know, Mycroft. I’m not about to get angry at him for being happy and involved in this new life of his.” Greg stated bluntly. He knew Mycroft was just trying to soften any feelings of being left alone he might have.   
“That’s good.” Mycroft responded, “I wouldn’t want you to feel bad about being left behind again.”  
“No, I get it. And besides, I have you now. I’m not alone.” Greg said, smiling with a gentle twinkle in his eye.  
“Indeed.” 

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. He would clear away the plates soon, but wanted to stay conversing with Gregory for a little longer.  
“I managed to collect some information for you regarding Moriarty.”   
“Oh, great... thanks. That should come in handy."  
“Perhaps not as much as you would like. Unfortunately, most of the information we have on him is covered under the Official Secrets Act, and so I cannot allow it to be revealed even to the police, let alone the public.”

Greg sighed. He'd figured as much. Moriarty liked to play the difficult game, and he was very good at it.  
“It’s alright. I’ll just have to see what I can do at the Yard. I think I’ll need to go around to different departments to get help on this one.”  
“Yes. And unfortunately, a lot of the easy evidences will be beyond the skills set of the Yard.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Things like tracing where the information uploaded onto the internet came from to associate it with Moriarty. I could probably find someone, but they do not work for Scotland Yard, and would not be permitted to do so.” 

Mycroft looked at Gregory’s pained expression. He stood, leaving the dirty plates on the table, and took Gregory’s hand to pull him to the couch.   
“You stress too much, dear. There is no time frame to get this done in, and there is nothing more you can do right now.” Mycroft said soothingly as he embraced Gregory.   
“You’re one to talk.” Greg muttered, happy to be held.  
“I realise that, yes, but you have taught me to not let things I can’t do anything about right this moment interfere with this moment.” 

Greg rested comfortably against Mycroft. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d taught him that, but it didn’t matter. He was right. Mycroft kissed his head and rubbed his arm soothingly. Greg hummed happily. It was a lot easier to let his job go while he had Mycroft around. 


	24. Final Piece of the Puzzle

“Anderson, I’m serious. You have to let this go. We have things to work on, why can’t you just focus on that?”   
“Because this is more important! If I can prove how he faked it, then all this won’t matter!”  
“This does matter. This is the last thing we need to do and then we can move on, alright?”  
“But … but we shouldn’t move on! Not when he’s still out there! You sound like my therapist.”  
“Good, I’m glad you’re still seeing one.”

Greg sighed deeply. Anderson hadn’t gotten better like he’d tried to explain to his boss. Instead, he seemed to have gathered more people into his little club and called it ‘the Empty Hearse’. He was starting to become delusional, focusing entirely on trying to work out _how_ Sherlock faked his death instead of looking at the facts before him. He’d already thrown several theories at him - and while they were getting slightly more believable, it was still sad to hear. He was honestly surprised that Management had given him his job back - and was left wondering if Mycroft had acted on their conversation a couple of weeks ago. 

“I understand it’s hard to deal with the guilt, Anderson. I’ve had to make my peace with it, and really it never just goes away. But that’s what all this is, you see? Just you trying to cope with the guilt over what you and Donovan did.”   
“No. You’re wrong. I’ll keep helping prove this Richard Brook person was a fraud, but I’m not going to stop working on Sherlock’s faked suicide either.”  
“If you keep going like this, you’ll lose your job again, and then what?”  
“I don’t care, I _know_ I’m right. And I’ve almost worked out how he did it.”  
“It’s not healthy, mate.”  
“Yeah well neither is shooting yourself.” Anderson muttered darkly, and Greg sneered for a moment. He took a deep breath and let the anger pass. He knew Anderson also held guilt over that as well, and snapping back at him probably wasn’t the best idea. 

Silence befell them while they continued the gruelling process of proving Rich Brook as a fake. Each minute detail was a battle to find evidence. They’d been working for months, and only now was the end in sight.  
_If only it were as easy as the papers to prove someone was a fraud._

Greg spent quite a lot of time being bitter about the fact that he had to do so much work and effort to prove that Richard Brook was a fraud, a creation of Moriarty, and yet all the media had to do was publish a half-arsed story stating Sherlock was a fraud and everyone believed it. No evidence needed. He quickly had realised that the media never really had to provide evidence for anything - they just had to print what the public was willing to lap up. 

Greg’s phone buzzed.

**\- Going to be just spending the day with Mary on Saturday, sorry.**

**** Greg sighed. Saturday was the second anniversary of Sherlock’s death, and he’d hoped that they could all spend the day together like last time. It had been nice. But John had embraced a new life now, and Greg was just a casual friend in it. They didn’t really catch up that often anymore, and while Greg did feel a bit sad about it, Mycroft was making up for it all. He reasoned that he himself wasn’t reaching out to John as much as he used to either since getting serious with the British Government, and so the distance between him and John would have been growing anyway. 

He was going to text back, but before he’d thought of what to say, he received another message.

**\- If you like we can catch up Friday night?**

It was only Tuesday, but he was already looking forward to it.  
_Oh John, ever the considerate one._

**\- Friday sounds good. Pub?  
** **\- Yeah, sure. I was gonna say bring Mycroft, but I can’t imagine him in a pub.**

“What is it?”  
Greg realised he’d been lost in thought looking at the text messages, grinning, and forgotten that Anderson was still sitting in the room with him.  
“Oh, just working out to catch up with John.”  
“Ah. Mycroft isn’t jealous?”  
“What? Why… why would he be jealous?”  
“Oh just you know, spending time with Sherlock’s old boyfriend… he could think John’s trying to take you away from him.”

Greg wasn’t sure where to begin with that comment.   
“Uh… Mycroft wouldn’t be afraid of that happening because as far as I know, John and Sherlock weren’t together… and… and John’s not interested in me, and he’s dating a woman at the moment!”  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you get all defensive.” Anderson grumbled, rolling his eyes.  
“Besides, he asked if I wanted to bring Mycroft anyway!” Greg snapped. 

Anderson said nothing, but waved his hand at Lestrade for him to continue his text conversation.

**\- Ha, yeah. He’d be incredibly awkward - he might even wear jeans for the occasion.  
** **\- On second thoughts, bring him. I want to see that. Badly.**

**** Greg laughed at John’s response, and Anderson sighed. Greg scowled at him.   
“You’re acting like a teenager.” Anderson griped.   
“Oh, maybe _you’re_ the one who’s jealous, hm?”  
“What? God no!” Anderson shouted in horror. Greg laughed.   
“Of me being in a relationship, not of Mycroft.”   
“I’ll have you know I don’t swing that way and nothing could even force me to consider anything with … Mycroft Holmes.” Anderson snapped, shuddering while saying Mycroft’s name.   
“Aw, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Greg poked. He’d missed poking fun with/at Anderson. It was almost like old times.   
“Oh god, please… do not tell me.” Anderson gagged. 

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and there stood the British Government himself.   
“Mycroft! What are you doing here?” Greg all but shouted gleefully.  
“I came to deliver some documents to you. I have had them cleared with the appropriate agencies for you to use in your investigation.” Mycroft stated, attempting to keep his cool, detached façade intact. The joy radiating from his partner to see him was making that immensely difficult. 

Greg leapt to his feet and walked over to Mycroft, giving him a long, deep kiss. Mycroft flushed red and looked about.  
“Gregory, need I remind you that we are in public!” Mycroft reprimanded quietly. 

Anderson had the decency to look away… even if it was to hide his expression of disgust. He knew that Lestrade probably initiated the show of affection to drive his point home. 

“If you feel the need to engage in public indecency, I can get you off.” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s ear, causing the man to blush harder and look panicked.  
“Gregory!” Mycroft snapped, but his body betrayed his annoyed pretence. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something - anything - else. 

Greg smiled dirtily as he slipped the file out of Mycroft’s hand and returned to his desk. Anderson decided he didn’t want to know what his boss had just uttered in his boyfriend’s ear. He wanted to leave, but Mycroft was still standing squarely in the doorway… and so he remained seated, staring out of the window awkwardly. 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Greg exclaimed upon reading the file.   
“I thought you’d be happy with it, yes.” Mycroft stated proudly.  
“Happy? I’m ecstatic! I’ll be able to close off the case by the end of the week with this!” 

Mycroft remained standing tall in the doorway. Anderson got up, notably avoiding any and all indications that Mycroft was still there staring at him, and peered into the file.  
“Well, I’m sure you have a lot to do, and so I will see you this evening, Detective Inspector.” 

Greg looked up at him. It wasn’t often that he used his title anymore, not since most people had worked out that they were dating. Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly and walked away, briefly putting his hands together behind his back. Greg got the message, and made a mental note to bring a certain item home with him. 

It was turning out to be a good day. 


	25. Pub Night

It was done. It was finally, finally done. It was a hell of a week, and he was exhausted. He knew he’d organised to see John at the pub, but he wasn’t really feeling up to it if he was honest. If Mycroft wasn’t so excited about it, he’d have called to cancel. 

It was funny, actually. Mycroft had been fussing about his attire for three days. Greg found it sweet. And a great opportunity. 

_“It’s a pub, Gregory. I don’t know what to wear to blend in properly!”_  
_“Myc, it really doesn’t matter.”_  
 _“I don’t want to be beaten for being a pretentious snob in the eyes of some large football enthusiast.”_  
_“Look, if you really want to look like an average Joe, I’ll go shopping with you.”_

Greg remembered their conversation as he was changing. Oh he’d had some fun yesterday playing dress-ups with his boyfriend. Mycroft wasn’t that impressed by all of the outfits he’d been asked to try on, but Greg could tell he was secretly enjoying it. Especially Greg’s reactions to some outfits. 

Eventually he’d gotten Mycroft to buy some dark, lightly washed jeans, with a red and blue checkered shirt. It was still fairly smart looking for most people in the pub, but for Mycroft… it was practically slumming it. 

Greg was standing in the hall in his own jeans, lighter, with a navy shirt and leather jacket. He heard Mycroft’s door open, and he looked out expectantly. Around the corner sauntered Mycroft in his dark jeans and plaid shirt, with dark brown leather shoes, and a black jacket. Greg swallowed. 

“Do I look ok?” Mycroft asked, unsure.   
“Ergh…” Greg gurgled, unable to make words.  
“That bad eh?” Mycroft said, dejected, only really looking down at his clothes and not how Gregory had reacted. Before he noticed, Gregory was standing right before him. 

“God.” Greg uttered before grabbing Mycroft forcefully and kissing him hard. Mycroft hummed at the sudden contact. Greg hurriedly shed the jacket off Mycroft’s shoulders, and then began to fumble at the buttons on the new shirt.   
“Gregory.” Mycroft managed to say amongst the kissing.  
“Hm?”

Mycroft broke the kiss, but it only made Gregory move to nuzzle and kiss the man’s neck.   
“We’ll be late.”  
“Mhm.” Greg agreed, but continued to unbutton Mycroft’s shirt. 

Mycroft was finding it increasingly difficult to stop his partner.  
“Well… maybe if we’re quick…” Mycroft uttered. That was all the permission Greg needed to shove the man into his bedroom and promptly start stripping them both. 

~ 

“Hey, I thought we agreed on six?” John asked, sitting at the table alone.  
“Yeah, sorry… something came up.” Greg said, with a coy smile and a flush to the ears. 

Greg and Mycroft slid into the booth opposite John, who realised what had happened and so asked for no further details. He’d been surprised just how normal Mycroft looked in jeans and a shirt. He thought it’d be funny, but it actually looked pretty good. 

“No Mary tonight?” Greg asked.   
“Nah, I um actually wanted to talk to you guys without her for a bit.”   
“Oh? Something the matter?” Mycroft inquired.  
“Nothing wrong, I assure you.” John said, smiling. 

Greg pecked Mycroft on the cheek before standing to go to the bar.  
“Beer, Myc?”  
“Scotch, if you please.”  
“Rocks?”  
“Yes, thank you.”

Mycroft noticed John smiling at him.  
“What is it?”  
“Nothing, just… you two are a cute couple.”  
“I … er… thank you.” Mycroft responded, not sure what to say. He wanted to be embarrassed, but really… he wasn’t.  
“Is everything going alright for you?” Mycroft asked.  
“Actually yes. It’s hard to think that I’d be here, really. Two years ago I’d never have thought it possible. Hell, four years ago I’d never thought it possible. And yet here I am. Mary’s been great through it all. I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for taking care of me after Sherlock.”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
“Well, if I didn’t, then really, Mycroft… thank you. I don’t know what would have happened without your help, and Greg’s of course. It wouldn’t have been easy for you either - having lost Sherlock and then having to take care of us both while grieving yourself.”

Mycroft looked a bit sullen as he responded.   
“Those events were not easy for me, no.”  
_Still not a lie._

Greg returned and passed Mycroft his drink.  
“So, what do you want to talk to us about?” 

John adjusted himself in his chair.  
“I’m … I’m actually going to propose to Mary.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, before congratulations spilled over. Greg was happy for him, and could understand it. It was soon, but they’d already been through a lot together. 

“I know it’s all rather soon, but … she makes me happy. And if I’ve learned anything it’s that you have to grab a hold of what makes you happy because it can leave you any time.” 

They all nodded softly in agreement. Greg slid his hand into Mycroft’s and squeezed gently. 

“I wanted to ask, Mycroft, if you knew a place? Somewhere nice to propose in, that is.”  
“Hm, there are many excellent places that I know of. I believe you would most enjoy the Landmark.”  
“I … I don’t know what that is.”  
“That’s ok, I don’t expect you to have frequented such establishments before. I would be happy to assist you should you wish.”  
“Oh, um, right … yeah, thanks, that might be good.” John stumbled on his words, aware that he was out of his depth when it came to ‘fancy’ things. 

“Hey, so, have you picked out a ring?” Greg asked enthusiastically.   
“Yeah, um… you wanna see?”  
Greg nodded, looking excited, and Mycroft…well, he didn’t look _dis_ interested. John pulled out a small maroon box and opened it, revealing a small ring with three diamonds in a row.  
“Looks nice, mate.”   
They both looked at Mycroft for his comments, and he raised an eyebrow.  
“I’m sure she will like it.” He stated. 

John put the ring back into his pocket, and asked about Anderson. Greg told him how he was seeing a therapist still, but hadn’t dropped the ‘Sherlock faked it’ obsession. Mycroft was unusually quiet in the conversation, but Greg just assumed he was unsettled. After some time discussing Anderson, they changed the topic to something lighter. 

“So, you’re growing a moustache?” Greg asked.   
“Yeah, thought I’d just try something out.” John responded, stroking the hairs forming on his lip.  
“Changes all ‘round I guess.” Greg spoke. 

He personally didn’t think it would suit him, but understood the desire to just change some things. He’d cut his hair a lot shorter recently, too. Mycroft had said it didn’t suit him outright. But that hadn’t stopped him from running his fingers through it. So really, he was proud of his partner from keeping his mouth shut for John’s sake. 

After a few more drinks, they all decided to call it a night. John didn’t want to be too late getting back to Mary, and Greg was getting increasingly handsy on Mycroft the more he drank. 


	26. Mycroft Leaves

Greg was cuddled up to Mycroft. They slept soundly, until an incessant noise roused Greg.   
“Errg, what’s that? Turn it off." He mumbled while Mycroft sat up.   
“It’s my phone, dear. Go back to sleep.” 

Mycroft grabbed his phone off the bedside table, and walked out of the room.   
“Anthea.”  
“Sir, Sherlock has been captured in Serbia." 

Mycroft froze, the blood inside him turning to ice.   
“I will be ready to go in 30 minutes.”  
“Sir, is that wise? Going in yourself?”  
“I may be the only one capable of getting him out without diplomatic incident.”   
“I understand, but the facility wherein he is detained is highly dangerous.”   
“Thank you for your concern, however I will not be talked out of this. I couldn’t go get him last time, and I made a promise.”  
“Very good Sir. I shall make the arrangements. A car will be at your house in 30 minutes.”

Mycroft hung up the phone. He swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. How could he explain this to Gregory? Mycroft slipped his phone into his pocket, and headed for his bedroom. He pulled out a bag, and started packing the essentials. He could have most items arranged for him en route, but there were some things he needed to bring from his room. 

He felt shaky, but full of determination. He knew that it was going to be incredibly dangerous. He couldn’t bring himself to think of what would happen to Gregory if he didn’t make it back. But he knew that if he did make it back, his entire world would be thrown into chaos anyway - because Sherlock would be revealed to be alive. And then Gregory would hate him for deceiving him. 

Mycroft sniffled and wiped tears from his eyes. All of this came just as it was understood that a terror attack on London was imminent. He hadn’t even begun to work out how to find the threat and neutralise it - but he guessed now he didn’t have to. If he was pulling Sherlock out he might as well take him home and have him work on it. His little brother was always much better at _legwork_. 

“Myc? What’s going on?” Gregory’s concerned voice came from the doorway.   
Mycroft froze his movements, but then continued putting the last item in his bag.   
“Something’s happened. I have to go.”   
“Right now? Go where?”  
Mycroft sighed and stood, facing Gregory. He had a worried face on, but it only got worse when he saw Mycroft.   
“Awh, love, come here.” Greg said, opening his arms for a hug. Mycroft slid into his arms and cried. It felt like the last time he’d have this embrace, and he didn't want it to end. But he had to be there for Sherlock. He’d always be there for Sherlock. 

“It’ll be ok.”   
“It won’t.” Mycroft mumbled into Greg’s bare chest. 

“Look, er… I know I can’t know what’s going on. But that’s ok, you don’t have to tell me. Just tell me you love me and that you’ll see me again soon. Cause I’ll be here, my love, when you get back to help you manage, alright?”   
Mycroft cried a little harder, and Greg couldn’t work out why. Mycroft took a deep breath and then straightened himself, pushing the tears back. 

“Gregory… I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. This is a very dangerous operation.”   
“But… you will come back, right?” Greg asked, the pit of his stomach dropping.   
“I will do everything in my power to return to you.” 

Greg knew Mycroft was just being truthful, but the omission of certainty made Greg panic. How could one phone call threaten to tear his life apart? They’d been so happy hours ago… 

“Please… don’t go.” Greg pleaded, his eyes watering.   
“I have to.” Mycroft whispered, his voice breaking. 

Mycroft released himself from Gregory and took out some clothes from his cupboard. He got dressed in silence, his throat having closed up. Greg remained standing at the doorway, unable to accept what was just happening.   
“I’ll be here waiting.” Greg uttered softly once Mycroft was dressed and lifted up the bag.   
“I know you will, my dear.” _And that’s when you’ll leave._ The thought crushed Mycroft. 

Mycroft walked out into the hallway to leave. Greg grabbed him by the arm, pulling him around and kissing him deeply.   
“I love you.” Greg whispered, his forehead pressed against Mycroft’s.   
“I love you too.” Mycroft said in return. 

“Be safe.” Greg said, stepping back to allow him to leave.   
“Be strong.” Mycroft returned. 

Mycroft grabbed his umbrella, opened it, and then walked out into the rain towards the car that was waiting. He looked back at Gregory, still standing in shock in the doorway in his underwear. His heart broke. He didn’t want it all to go away - if only he could have had more time… but he sighed resigned to himself. There never was enough time once he decided something mattered. And the situation was unavoidable. He breathed deep, and entered the car. 

Greg watched him drive away into the night. He felt so helpless. He closed the door, returned to the bed, and curled into a ball. He cuddled his fluffy pillow, and balled into it. He didn’t know why he bothered being quiet - there wasn’t anyone there to hear him. But feeling the texture on his face grounded him somehow. 

After a few minutes, he calmed down enough to pick up his phone. It was three am - a bit early to text John. He knew the doctor wouldn’t mind, but he still felt guilty for waking him. It wasn’t an ‘emergency’, it was just … excruciating. Like he’d been kicked in the gut back down into his dark hole and hit the bottom with a splat. He cringed at the thought, the idea of Sherlock’s body hitting the pavement in a similar way flashing through his mind. He didn’t know what it was about this time of year, but things always just seemed to go horribly wrong in some way. 


	27. Sherlock Cleared

The press release had gone as expected. At least the media was being positive about Sherlock’s name being cleared - he hadn’t trusted it to go down so easy. But he couldn’t really enjoy the fruits of his labour. Not while Mycroft was still gone. 

Greg had been told that Mycroft was completely uncontactable, even by his own department. He wasn’t sure if Anthea was lying or not, but he felt dejected all the same. He was tired all the time from being unable to sleep, and he was short with the people around him. 

John hadn’t contacted him, but Greg knew he didn’t really have reason to since he hadn’t ended up texting him. He’d somehow hoped that the man would magically know that things weren’t alright, and reach out to him. He was just so… tired … of having to do it himself. But he summoned the strength to go into work, to talk to the press when he needed to, and to listen to Anderson. 

Today was the day Anderson decided to tell him his newest and ‘ultimate’ theory of how Sherlock had faked it, including how John could have seen it happen. Greg was not able to tolerate it as he had in the past, and snapped at him while they were getting coffee. He knew he should be more sensitive with Anderson given his condition, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just wanted Mycroft back. 

He sighed to himself, and called a toast with Anderson in respect to Sherlock’s memory. It was a difficult day from all sides. Greg just wanted to go home and curl up under the covers. 

“So, what are you gonna do now?” Greg asked Anderson as they walked back to the Yard.   
“I don’t know. Just work on whatever cases are around until the end of the day.”   
“…where you'll go home and work more on your theories.”   
“What does it matter if I do?”  
  
Greg sighed again. It was true… what did it matter?  
“‘Right, fine. Sorry.” Greg mumbled, and turned to walk back away from the building.   
“Where are you going now?” Anderson called after him.   
“I… home, I guess. I can’t do this today.” Greg said, looking at the pavement. He then turned, his coat billowing in the wind, and walked away. 

Anderson found it a little concerning, but figured it was always going to be an emotionally challenging day for Lestrade. He was very grateful to the man for helping get his job back, and wanted to make it up to him somehow. Still, the last time he was concerned about Lestrade’s emotional wellbeing, he’d attempted suicide - and so he figured, there wouldn’t be harm in getting someone to check in with him. He didn’t know Mycroft’s number, but knew he’d likely be at work for some time yet. He did still have John’s number, though, from the files. He decided to just give Lestrade’s friend a heads up. 

John relaxed in his chair, watching the news. He normally didn’t work on Tuesdays, but he would have asked for the day off anyway once Greg had told him they were going to the press with the information about Sherlock’s cleared name. 

He felt an inner peace at seeing the apologies written across the papers, at seeing reporters retracting the claims of Sherlock being a fraud. But he was still sad inside that it all came too late to help Sherlock. But it did give him a unique closure that let him finally feel like that part of his life is in the past. Even though he’d moved on, there was always that nagging feeling that it was unfinished because it wasn’t right. It seemed a lot more… comfortable… to propose to Mary now that the part of his life with Sherlock was complete and packed away. 

John heard his phone buzz from the kitchen. It was probably Mary, he thought to himself, talking about how boring the clinic was without him there. She did that sometimes. He got up and opened it. It was from a number he didn’t have in his contacts list.

**\- Dr Watson, it’s Anderson. Greg wasn’t looking the best today and has just suddenly gone home saying he ‘can’t do this’. It’s probably nothing but I was concerned and wanted to tell someone. If you’re able to, could you just check in with him?**

**** John suddenly felt his chest tighten in panic. For _Anderson_ of all people to message him, then something must be really astray. He texted back immediately.

**\- Anderson, thank you for letting me know. I’m going over to see him right now. JW.**

**** He grabbed his jacket, put his shoes on, and left the house. After calling for a cab, he arrived at Greg and Mycroft’s place. Well, work place. He anxiously pressed the doorbell. 

Greg was aware that there was a dinging noise coming from somewhere. He focused more and realised it was the doorbell.   
_Who would be ringing the doorbell? I’m not in the mood for door to door sales people._

Greg groaned as he stood up. He looked a mess, with his clothes crumbled and askew from being huddled up on the couch. His face was still red and puffy from crying, and he had drunken a large amount of Mycroft’s scotch in a very short period of time.   
_Kicked back down into the hole indeed._

He figured that if he didn’t answer, they’d go away. But the ringing only got more insistent, and Greg began to hear another noise. It was faint, but he recognised it as his phone.   
_Where did I leave that?_

Greg stumbled into the bedroom following the noise, getting annoyed at the sounds of the doorbell and knocking. He found his phone underneath the pile of blankets on the bed, and squinted at the screen. John was calling him. 

“John?”  
“Greg, why aren’t you answering your phone or the door? I’m worried about you, mate.”  
“Argh, Oh… that’s you? Erh, hang on. Give me a minute…” Greg mumbled as he walked out to open the door. He un-clicked the locks and was met with a very concerned Dr Watson.    


“Greg, what’s happened? You look terrible. Why didn’t you call me?”

Greg was silent. He just had a distant sad stare on his face, and John lead him into the lounge to sit on the couch. 

“Greg?”  
“’T's Mycroft.” Greg slurred.   
“What’s happened?”   
“He left.”  
“What? He broke up with you?”  
“No! No, why would I be here if he did?” Greg snapped, thinking it horrible that John would even think such a thing. Although he was probably right to ask.   
“Fair point. Where did he go then?”  


Greg started to cry again.   
“I don’t know! He got a call in the middle of the night, and then he was gone! He’s out of contact, he said it was very dangerous, and he couldn’t even assure me that he’d be coming back!”

John looked at him sternly out of worry. No, that didn’t sound good at all. And with all the stress and exhaustion of the past week, and then the press today… Greg’s state was making a hell of a lot of sense. 

“It’s alright, Greg. Try not to assume the worst, ok? He’ll be back soon no doubt.” John tried to sooth, but knew it probably wasn’t all that helpful. 

“You’re so right, John.”  
“I am?”  
“Yeah. You have to seize the opportunity to be happy, because damn right it gets taken away before you know it.” 

Greg looked pitiful as he spoke. John moved over and rubbed his back. They weren’t usually very physically close, but he thought it could be forgiven this time.   
“Yeah.” 

Greg sniffled.   
“I hate this.”   
“This?”  
“All of this. The depression making my emotions explode. Always being afraid of taking things further because of the past.”  
“You can’t really help that, Greg.”  
“Not the first thing, maybe. But I can the second. Hell, I’m going to do it. I’m gonna seize the chance. If…when… he comes back, I’m gonna go for it.”  
“… Greg, what are you talking about?”   
“I’m gonna ask him to be my husband. He’s the best thing that could have happened to me and I’ll be damned if I'm gonna lose him before I get a chance to ask.” 

John stilled. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it wasn’t the best idea to make such a decision in this condition. But… Greg did have a point. Mycroft’s work did tend to leave him in situations that could suddenly cause his demise. Should he voice the concern that such might be a reason not to commit oneself to a life in fear of that happening? He mentally shook his head: Greg was already committed. 

“Are you sure, Greg?”  
“Fucking sure, John. I know you’ve got this whole big thing planned for getting engaged and I’m sorry if I’m cuttin’ in on your turf or whatever, but I’m not gonna let Mycroft slip through my fingers and end up standing over his grave wondering what might have been.” 

John furrowed his brows. Greg really wasn’t in a stable place right now. He was very emotional, irrational, and reasonably drunk. How he’d gotten out so many words so well thus far was amazing, given the state John had found him in. He swallowed. He really didn’t know what to say. He knew that Greg and Mycroft could potentially get married and be happy. But Mycroft was Mycroft, and if Greg asked too soon, too forcefully, or in the wrong way… Mycroft could be scared off, and leave Greg entirely broken. It was a tough situation. 

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit and watch some telly. You want something to eat? We can order some Chinese?”   
Greg screwed up his face and nodded, sniffling.   
“Pizza.” He commented, before getting up and going to his bedroom to get out of his work clothes. 


	28. Given That Miracle

Greg had apologised to John for his behaviour the previous week. John had been understanding, but he still felt guilty for such expression of emotions. He’d been honest though - he did intend to propose to Mycroft once he got back. He’d even gone out and bought a pair of rings: a matching set, one gold for Mycroft, and one silver for him. 

It still stressed him out that Mycroft was gone and out of contact. He’d noticed he’d been smoking a lot more the past few days. He’d started the habit again after his suicide attempt, but kept it fairly minimal. 

Anderson had been glad that he'd shown up for work the next day following his little breakdown. He didn’t say anything, but Greg knew he was the one that had told John something was up. Greg thanked him for it anyway. 

He sat at his desk wondering how John was. Tonight was the night he was taking Mary to The Landmark, and so no doubt he was panicking. Greg assumed Mary would say yes, but he couldn’t be sure - no one could. He chuckled to himself when he remembered John calling him and telling him of his encounter with Mrs Hudson. 

_“She still thinks I was dating Sherlock!”_  
“Just let her think it, what’s the harm?”  
“‘Cause I’m not gay, that’s why!”  
“John, relax. It’s ok to like one particular person even if they’re not your gender of preference.” Greg mentioned, remembering Mycroft’s deduction that John was rather repressed in his attraction to men.  
_“Would you quit it?”  
_ _“Hehehe, John… don’t take it all so serious. You two were a couple, even if it wasn’t how some people thought it. You can’t blame her for thinking it.”_

_John sighed._  
_“Well, I will be glad to finally stop being told I’m gay.”_  
_“I… I don’t think people actually have been telling you that, just that you were Sherlock’s boyfriend. As someone who likes either, I can tell you that liking a guy doesn’t make you gay exactly.”  
_ _“Ok, I can see you’re fixated on this so I’m just going to drop it.”_

_Greg laughed._  
_“Sorry mate. But other than that, how’d it go?”_  
“Well she was pretty pissed that I hadn’t called or anything.”  
_“Damn, well… I guess she had a point.”_  
_“I know… I know. I really should make it up to her and keep in touch more. You haven’t though.”_  
“Yeah well I wasn’t living above her, either, mate.”  
_“True.”_

Greg smiled while lost in the memory. It was sad that John had let some people slide in his life. Mrs Hudson and Molly in particular. Greg knew that he himself should have been in contact with Molly more often, but she was always distant whenever he’d tried… and so he just gave up. He felt guilty about it now, of course, but at the time he’d been preoccupied. He knew Molly wouldn’t really blame him for it. She hadn’t tried to contact him, either. 

~

Greg organised the things on his desk ready to head home. It was late, but he’d been doing anything he could to avoid going home to an empty house. Yet another cold empty night alone. He sighed.

John hadn’t contacted him to tell him how everything went down. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected it, since he was likely too busy ‘celebrating’ with Mary. The thought made him yearn for Mycroft to be back. He’d stopped thinking that it was a ‘possibility’, and firmly told himself that it was a certainty.  
_He WAS coming back, and I AM going to ask him to marry me._

Part of him really wanted to know what it was that Mycroft was doing. He hated sometimes that he could know literally nothing about the man’s work. Mycroft had been so upset, and looked at him like he wasn’t going to see him again - and Greg wanted to know what it was that made the British Government give him that look. Those eyes had been burned into Greg’s memory. 

He left the office, and headed down to his car. He fumbled in his coat for another cigarette, when he heard a noise. Adrenaline rushed through his body, his mind instantly thinking it could be Mycroft; but he didn’t hear anything else, and so told himself it was nothing. A criminal wouldn’t pose that much threat to him, even if it was much more likely than Mycroft appearing out of nowhere to surprise him.  
_Heh. Like that will happen._

He flicked the lighter and cupped his hands around the flame and his cigarette when he heard a baritone voice that made his blood run cold. He froze. 

“Those things will kill you.” 

_It can’t be. That’s… no, it can’t be. He’s dead… isn’t he? Could… could Anderson have been right all along?_

“Oooh, you bastard!”

He looked over and out of the shadows appeared none other than Sherlock Holmes.  
_Was he hallucinating? Surely not…_

“It’s time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide, Graham.” 

_It’s him. It’s actually him.  
_ Greg couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Those curls bouncing like always, the sharp cheekbones under the smooth pale skin, and those piercing blue eyes. He was here, and he was talking to Greg like old times… and Greg’s heart leapt. He never thought he’d play that game again. 

“Greg.” He snapped back.  
“Greg.” Sherlock answered with the usual face he gave. 

Greg could hear his own voice resound through his head from his conversation with Mycroft.  
_“I’d give anything for that daft git to be around again. I don’t care how it happens.”_

He’d been given that miracle. Here he was worried he might loose Mycroft, and he was given Sherlock back. He threw his arms out and pulled the man into a tight loving hug. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who left kudos and commented for this part! I know it got a bit long, but I'm happy with the developments. 
> 
> Now, on to part III where everything gets turned upside down, Mycroft's deception causes some serious problems, and Sherlock realises the world he left isn't the same one he came back to.


End file.
